OF  THE 


U N i VERS  ITY 
OF  ILLINOIS 

PRESENTED  5Y 

Miss  Ethel  Ricker 
from  the 

Library  of  her  Father 
Nathan  Clifford  Ricker 
Head  of  the  Department  of 
Architecture,  1873-1911 


3\S3>3  b 
v.  \4 


The  person  charging  this  material  is  re- 
sponsible for  its  return  to  the  library  from 
which  it  was  withdrawn  on  or  before  the 
Latest  Date  stamped  below. 

Theft,  mutilation,  and  underlining  of  books 
are  reasons  for  disciplinary  action  and  may 
result  in  dismissal  from  the  University. 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS  LIBRARY  AT  URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 


III 


i '\3197i. 


L161  — 0-1096 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/romancesofdumas14duma 


Jr.  i KJ 


Balsamo  and  Loren^a. 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN 


BY 

ALEXANDRE  DUMAS. 


Vol.  III. 


NEW  YORK 

THE  ATHENAEUM  SOCIETY 


Copyright , 1890 , 2555, 

By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company. 


845  DS?3 
T |?93k> 
v.  14 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTETt 

i.  The  Bed  of  Justice  . . * 

II.  The  Influence  of  the  Words  of  the  Un- 
known upon  J.  J.  Rousseau  . . . * . 

III.  The  House  in  the  Rue  Plastriere  • . . 

IY.  The  Report  

Y.  The  Body  and  the  Soul  . . 

YI.  Body  and  Soul  

YII.  Marat’s  Portress 

VIII.  The  Man  and  his  Works 

IX.  Rousseau’s  Toilet 

X.  The  Side-scenes  of  Trianon 

XI.  The  Rehearsal 

XII.  The  Casket 

XIII.  King  Louis  XY.’s  Private  Supper  . . . 

XIY.  Presentiments 

XY.  Gilbert’s  Romance 

XYI.  Father  and  Daughter 

XVII.  What  Althotas  wanted  to  complete  his 

Elixir 

XVIII.  Monsieur  de  Richelieu’s  two  Drops  of 

Water 

XIX.  The  Plight  . . 

XX.  Double  Sight 

XXI.  Catalepsy 

XXII.  The  Will 

XXIII.  The  Hotel  of  Monsieur  de  Sartines  . . 


Page 

1 

10 

19 

28 

44 

60 

71 

83 

94 

100 

112 

119 

126 

139 

148 

156 

163 

178 

192 

201 

209 

216 

223 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


Chapts*  Paqb 

XXIY.  The  Coffer 231 

XXY.  Conversation 240 

XXYI.  Sartines  begins  to  think  Balsamo  a Sor- 
cerer   251 

XXY II.  The  Elixir  of  Life 258 

XXYIIL  The  Struggle 266 

XXIX.  Love 271 

XXX.  The  Philtre  . 283 

XXXI.  Blood 293 

XXXII.  Despair 302 

XXXIII.  The  Judgment  . . • 309 

XXXIY.  Doom 318 

XXXY.  Perplexities 325 

XXXYI.  The  Memory  of  Kings 332 

XXXYII.  Andree’s  Swoons 339 

XXXYIII.  Doctor  Louis 348 

XXXIX.  Monsieur  de  Richelieu’s  Word-play  . 355 

XL.  The  Return 366 

XLI.  Brother  and  Sister 373 

XLII.  A Misunderstanding 382 

XLIII.  An  Investigation 389 

XLIY.  The  Consultation 396 

XLY.  Gilbert’s  Conscience 406 

XLYI.  Two  Griefs  . 414 

XLYII.  The  Ride  to  Trianon 426 

XLYIII.  The  Revelation 433 

XLIX.  The  Little  Garden  of  Doctor  Louis  . 444 

L.  Pather  and  Son 451 

LI.  A Case  of  Conscience 463 

LII.  Gilbert’s  Projects 483 

LIII.  A Yain  Struggle;  in  which  Gilbert 

FINDS  THAT  IT  IS  EASIER  TO  COMMIT  A 

Crime  than  to  Conquer  a Prejudice  . 489 

LIY.  Resolution • . 497 

LY.  The  Fifteenth  of  December 503 

LYI.  The  Last  Audience  ........  510 


CONTENTS, 


vii 

Chaptbs  Page 

LY1I.  The  Child  without  a Father 519 

LVIII.  The  Abduction . . . . 525 

LIX.  The  Village  of  Haramont 532 

LX.  The  Pitou  Family 538 

LXI.  The  Departure 545 

LXII.  Gilbert’s  Last  Farewell 551 

LXIII.  On  Board . . • • 559 

LX1Y.  The  Azore  Islands 565 

Epilogue * « 574 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  BED  OF  JUSTICE. 

This  famous  bed  of  justice  took  place  with  all  the  cere- 
monies which  royal  pride,  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  in- 
trigues which  drove  the  master  to  this  step,  on  the  other, 
demanded. 

The  household  of  the  king  was  placed  under  arras  ; an 
abundance  of  short-robed  archers,  soldiers  of  the  watch, 
and  police-officers  were  commissioned  to  protect  the  lord 
chancellor,  who,  like  a general  upon  the  decisive  day, 
would  have  to  expose  his  sacred  person  to  secure  the  suc- 
cess of  the  enterprise. 

The  chancellor  was  execrated.  Of  this  he  was  well 
aware,  and  if  his  vanity  made  him  fear  assassination,  those 
better  acquainted  with  the  sentiments  of  the  public 
toward  him  could,  without  exaggerating,  have  predicted 
some  downright  insults,  or  at  least  hootings,  as  likely  to 
fall  to  his  share.  The  same  perquisites  were  promised  to 
Monsieur  d’Aiguillon,  who  was  equally  offensive  to  the 
popular  instincts,  improved  perhaps  by  parliamentary  de- 
bates. The  king  affected  serenity,  yet  he  was  not  easy. 

vol.  hi.  — 1 


2 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


But  he  donned  with  great  satisfaction  his  magnificent 
robes,  and  straightway  came  to  the  conclusion  that  nothing 
protects  so  surely  as  majesty.  He  might  have  added, 
“ and  the  love  of  the  people ; ” but  this  phrase  had  been 
so  frequently  repeated  to  him  at  Metz  during  his  illness 
that  he  imagined  he  could  not  repeat  it  now  without  being 
charged  with  plagiarism. 

The  dauphiness,  for  whom  the  sight  was  a new  one, 
and  who  at  heart  perhaps  wished  to  see  it,  assumed  her 
plaintive  look,  and  wore  it  during  the  drive  to  the  cere- 
mony, — which  disposed  public  opinion  very  favorably 
toward  her. 

Madame  Dubarry  was  brave.  She  possessed  that  confi- 
dence which  is  given  by  youth  and  beauty.  Besides,  had 
not  everything  been  said  that  could  be  said  of  her  ? What 
could  be  added  now  ? She  appeared,  radiant  with  beauty, 
as  if  the  splendor  of  her  august  lover  had  been  reflected 
upon  her. 

The  Due  d’Aiguillon  marched  boldly  among  the  peers 
who  preceded  the  king.  His  noble  and  impressive  coun- 
tenance betrayed  no  symptoms  of  grief  or  discontent,  nor 
did  he  bear  himself  triumphantly.  To  see  him  walking 
thus,  none  would  have  suspected  that  the  struggle  of  the 
king  with  his  parliament  was  on  his  account.  Fingers 
were  pointed  at  him  in  the  crowd,  terrible  glances  were 
darted  at  him  from  the  parliament,  and  that  was 
aH. 

The  great  hall  of  the  Palais  was  crammed  to  overflow- 
ing ; actors  and  spectators  together  made  a total  of  more 
than  three  thousand  persons. 

Outside  the  Palais  the  crowd,  kept  in  order  by  the 
staves  of  the  officers  and  the  batons  and  maces  of  the 
archers,  gave  token  of  its  presence  only  by  that  indescriba- 
ble hum  which  is  not  a voice,  which  articulates  nothing, 


THE  BED  OF  JUSTICE. 


3 


but  which  nevertheless  makes  itself  heard,  and  which  may 
justly  be  called  the  utterance  of  the  people. 

The  same  silence  reigned  in  the  great  hall  when,  the 
sound  of  footsteps  having  ceased,  and  every  one  having 
taken  his  place,  the  king,  majestic  and  gloomy,  had  com- 
manded his  chancellor  to  begin  the  proceedings. 

The  parliament  knew  beforehand  what  the  bed  of  jus- 
tice held  in  reserve  for  them.  They  fully  understood 
why  they  had  been  convoked.  They  were  to  hear  the 
unmitigated  expression  of  the  royal  will ; but  they  knew 
the  patience,  not  to  say  the  timidity,  of  the  king,  and  if 
they  feared,  it  was  rather  for  the  consequences  of  the  bed 
of  justice  than  for  the  sitting  itself. 

The  chancellor  began  his  address.  He  was  an  excellent 
orator;  his  exordium  was  clever,  and  the  amateurs  of  a 
demonstrative  style  found  ample  scope  for  study  in  it. 
As  it  proceeded,  however,  the  speech  degenerated  into  a 
tirade  so  severe  that  all  the  nobility  had  a smile  on  their 
lips,  while  the  parliament  felt  very  ill  at  ease. 

The  king,  by  the  mouth  of  his  chancellor,  ordered 
them  to  cut  short  the  affairs  of  Brittany,  of  which  he  had 
had  enough.  He  commanded  them  to  be  reconciled  to 
the  Due  d’Aiguillon,  whose  services  pleased  him,  and  not 
to  interrupt  the  service  of  justice,  so  that  everything 
might  go  on  as  in  that  happy  period  of  the  golden  age 
when  the  flowing  streams  murmured  judicial  or  argumen- 
tative discourses,  when  the  trees  were  loaded  with  bags  of 
law  papers  placed  within  reach  of  the  advocates  and  at- 
torneys, who  had  the  right  to  pluck  them  as  fruit  belong- 
ing to  them. 

These  flippancies  did  not  reconcile  the  parliament  to  the 
lord  chancellor  nor  to  the  Due  d’Aiguillon.  But  the 
speech  had  been  made,  and  all  reply  was  impossible. 

The  members  of  the  parliament,  although  scarcely  able 


4 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


to  contain  their  vexation,  assumed,  with  that  admirable 
unity  which  gives  so  much  strength  to  constituted  bodies, 
a calm  and  indifferent  demeanor,  which  highly  displeased 
his  Majesty  and  the  aristocratic  world  upon  the  platform. 

The  dauphiness  turned  pale  with  anger.  For  the  first 
time  she  found  herself  in  the  presence  of  popular  resistance, 
and  she  coldly  calculated  its  power.  She  had  come  to 
this  bed  of  justice  with  the  intention  of  opposing,  at  least 
by  her  look,  the  resolution  which  was  about  to  be  adopted 
there ; but  gradually  she  felt  herself  drawn  to  make  com- 
mon cause  with  those  of  her  own  caste  and  race,  — so  that 
in  proportion  as  the  chancellor  attacked  the  parliament 
more  severely,  this  proud  young  creature  was  indignant  to 
find  his  words  so  weak.  She  fancied  she  could  have 
found  words  which  would  have  made  this  assembly  start 
like  a troop  of  oxen  under  the  goad.  In  short,  she  found 
the  chancellor  too  feeble,  and  the  parliament  too  strong. 

Louis  XY.  was  a physiognomist,  as  all  selfish  people 
would  be  if  they  were  not  sometimes  idle  as  well  as  sel- 
fish. He  cast  a glance  around  to  observe  the  effect  of  his 
will,  expressed  in  words  which  he  thought  tolerably  elo- 
quent. The  paleness  and  the  compressed  lips  of  the 
dauphiness  showed  him  what  was  passing  in  her  mind. 
As  a counterpoise,  he  turned  to  look  at  Madame  Dubarry ; 
but  instead  of  the  victorious  smile  he  hoped  to  find  there, 
he  saw  only  an  anxious  desire  to  attract  the  king’s  looks, 
as  if  to  judge  what  he  thought. 

Nothing  intimidates  weak  minds  so  much  as  being 
forestalled  by  the  wills  and  minds  of  others.  If  they  find 
themselves  observed  by  those  who  have  already  taken  a 
resolution,  they  conclude  that  they  have  not  done  enough  ; 
that  they  are  about  to  be,  or  have  been,  ridiculous  ; that 
the  spectators  have  a right  to  expect  more  than  has 
been  done.  Then  they  pass  to  extremes  ; the  timid  man 


THE  BED  OF  JUSTICE. 


5 


becomes  furious,  and  a sudden  manifestation  betrays  the 
effect  of  this  reaction  produced  by  fear  upon  a fear  less 
powerful. 

The  king  had  no  need  to  add  a single  word  to  those 
his  chancellor  had  already  spoken ; it  was  not  according 
to  etiquette,  it  was  not  even  necessary.  But  on  this 
occasion  he  was  possessed  of  the  babbling  demon,  and 
making  a sign  with  his  hand,  he  signified  that  he  intended 
to  speak. 

Immediately  attention  was  changed  to  stupor.  The 
members  of  parliament  were  all  seen  to  wheel  round 
toward  the  bed  of  justice  with  the  precision  of  a file  of 
soldiers  upon  drill.  The  princes,  peers,  and  military  felt 
uneasy.  It  was  not  impossible  that  after  so  many  excel- 
lent things  had  been  said,  his  most  Christian  Majesty 
might  add  something  which,  to  say  the  least,  would  be 
quite  useless.  Their  respect  prevented  them  from  giving 
any  other  description  to  the  words  which  might  fall  from 
the  royal  lips. 

Monsieur  de  Richelieu,  who  had  affected  to  keep  aloof 
from  his  nephew,  now  sought  communication  with  him 
by  a glance  of  the  eye  and  an  expression  of  mysterious 
intelligence.  But  his  glance,  which  was  becoming  re- 
bellious, met  the  penetrating  eye  of  Madame  Dubarry. 
Richelieu  possessed,  as  no  one  else  did,  the  precious  power 
of  transition ; he  passed  easily  from  the  satirical  to  the 
admiring  expression,  and  chose  the  beautiful  countess  as 
the  point  of  intersection  between  these  two  extremes.  He 
addressed  a smile  of  gallantry  and  congratulation,  there- 
fore, to  Madame  Dubarry ; but  the  latter  was  not  duped 
by  it,  especially  since  the  old  marshal,  who  had  given 
signs  of  an  understanding  with  the  parliament  and  the 
opposing  princes,  was  obliged  to  continue  them,  that  he 
might  not  appear  what  he  really  was. 


6 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


What  sights  there  are  in  a drop  of  water,  — that  ocean 
for  an  observer  ! What  centuries  in  a second,  — that 
indescribable  eternity ! All  we  have  related  took  place 
while  Louis  was  preparing  to  speak  and  was  opening  his 
lips.  “ You  have  heard,* 7 said  he,  in  a firm  voice,  “ what 
my  chancellor  has  told  you  of  my  wishes.  Prepare,  there- 
fore, to  execute  them ; for  such  are  my  intentions,  and  I 
shall  never  change  ! ” 

Louis  XV.  uttered  these  last  words  with  the  noise  and 
force  of  a thunderbolt.  The  whole  assembly  was  literally 
thunderstruck.  A shudder  passed  over  the  parliament, 
and  was  quickly  communicated  like  an  electric  spark  to 
the  crowd.  A like  thrill  was  felt  by  the  partisans  of  the 
king.  Surprise  and  admiration  were  on  every  face  and 
in  every  heart.  The  dauphiness  involuntarily  thanked 
the  king  by  a lightning  glance  from  her  beautiful  eyes. 
Madame  Dubarry,  electrified,  could  not  refrain  from  ris- 
ing, and  would  have  clapped  her  hands,  but  for  the  very 
natural  fear  of  being  stoned  as  she  left  the  house,  or  of 
receiving  hundreds  of  couplets  the  next  morning,  each 
more  odious  than  the  others. 

Louis  could  from  this  moment  enjoy  his  triumph.  The 
parliament  bent  low,  still  with  the  same  unanimity.  The 
king  rose  from  his  embroidered  cushions.  Instantly  the 
captain  of  the  guards,  the  commandant  of  the  household, 
and  all  the  gentlemen  of  the  king’s  suite,  rose.  Drums 
beat  and  trumpets  sounded  outside.  The  almost  silent 
stir  of  the  people  on  the  arrival  was  now  changed  into  a 
deep  murmur,  which  died  away  in  the  distance,  repressed 
by  the  soldiers  and  archers. 

The  king  proudly  crossed  the  hall,  without  seeing  any- 
thing on  his  way  but  humbled  foreheads.  The  Due 
d’Aiguillon  still  preceded  his  Majesty,  without  abusing 
his  triumph. 


THE  BED  OF  JUSTICE. 


7 


The  chancellor,  having  reached  the  door  of  the  hall,  saw 
the  immense  crowd  of  people  extending  on  all  sides,  and 
heard  their  execrations,  which  reached  his  ears  notwith- 
standing the  distance.  He  trembled,  and  said  to  the 
archers  : “ Close  around  me,” 

Monsieur  de  Richelieu  bowed  low  to  the  Due  d’Ai- 
guillon  as  he  passed,  and  whispered,  “ These  heads  are 
very  low,  Duke ; some  day  or  other  they  will  rise  devil- 
ishly high.  Take  care  ! ” 

Madame  Dubarry  was  passing  at  the  moment,  accom- 
panied by  her  brother,  the  Marquise  de  Mirepoix,  and 
several  ladies.  She  heard  the  marshal’s  words ; and  as 
she  was  more  inclined  to  repartee  than  malice,  she  said  : 
“ Oh  ! there  is  nothing  to  fear,  Marshal ; did  you  not  hear 
his  Majesty’s  words  ] The  king,  I think,  said  he  would 
never  change.” 

“ Terrible  words  indeed,  Madame,”  replied  the  duke, 
with  a smile ; “ but  happily  for  us,  these  poor  parliament 
men  did  not  remark  that  while  saying  he  would  never 
change,  the  king  looked  at  you ; ” and  he  finished  this 
compliment  with  one  of  those  inimitable  bows  which  are 
no  longer  seen,  even  upon  the  stage. 

Madame  Dubarry  was  a woman,  and  by  no  means  a 
politician.  She  saw  only  the  compliment,  where  D’Ai- 
guillon  detected  plainly  the  epigram  and  the  threat. 
Therefore  she  replied  with  a smile,  while  her  ally  turned 
pale  and  bit  his  lips  with  vexation  upon  seeing  that 
the  marshal’s  resentment  was  still  unappeased. 

The  effect  of  the  bed  of  justice  was  for  the  moment 
favorable  to  the  royal  cause.  But  it  frequently  happens 
that  a great  blow  only  stuns,  and  it  is  remarked  that  after 
the  stunning  effect  has  passed  away,  the  blood  circulates 
with  more  vigor  and  purity  than  before.  Such  at  least 
were  the  reflections  made  by  a little  group  of  plainly 


8 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


dressed  persons  who  were  stationed  as  spectators  at  the 
corner  of  the  Quai-aux-Fleurs  and  the  Rue  de  la  Barillerie, 
on  seeing  the  king,  attended  by  his  brilliant  cortege,  leave 
the  hall.  They  were  three  in  number.  Chance  had 
brought  them  together  at  this  corner,  and  there  they 
seemed  to  study  with  interest  the  impressions  of  the 
crowd.  Without  previous  acquaintance  with  one  another, 
they  had  been  placed  in  sympathy  by  the  exchange  of  a 
few  words,  and  had  discussed  the  sitting  even  before  it 
was  over. 

“ These  passions  are  well  ripened,”  said  one  of  them,  an 
old  man  with  bright  eyes,  and  a mild  and  honest  expres- 
sion. “ A bed  of  justice  is  a great  work.” 

“ Yes,”  replied  a young  man,  smiling  bitterly;  “yes,  if 
the  work  realize  the  title.” 

“ Monsieur,”  replied  the  old  man,  turning  round,  “ I 
think  I should  know  you ; I fancy  I have  seen  you 
before.” 

“On  the  night  of  the  30th  of  May.  You  are  not  mis- 
taken, Monsieur  Rousseau.” 

“ Oh  ! you  are  that  young  surgeon,  — my  countryman, 
Monsieur  Marat ! ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur,  at  your  service.” 

The  two  men  exchanged  salutations.  The  third  had 
not  yet  spoken.  He  was  also  young,  eminently  handsome, 
and  aristocratic  in  his  appearance,  and  during  the  whole 
ceremony  had  unceasingly  observed  the  crowd.  The 
young  surgeon  moved  away  the  first,  and  plunged  into 
the  densest  masses  of  the  people,  who,  less  grateful  than 
Rousseau,  had  already  forgotten  him,  but  whose  memory 
he  expected  some  day  to  revive. 

The  other  young  man  waited  until  he  was  gone ; and 
then,  addressing  Rousseau,  “ Monsieur,”  said  he,  “ you  do 
not  go.” 


THE  BED  OF  JUSTICE. 


9 


“ Oh ! I am  too  old  to  venture  into  such  a mob.” 

“ In  that  case,”  said  the  unknown,  lowering  his  voice, 
“ I will  see  you  again  this  evening  in  the  Rue  Plastriere, 
Monsieur  Rousseau,  — do  not  fail.” 

The  philosopher  started  as  if  a ghost  had  risen  before 
him.  His  complexion,  always  pale,  became  livid.  He 
made  an  effort  to  reply  to  this  strange  appeal,  but  the  man 
had  already  disappeared. 


10 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  INFLUENCE  OF  THE  WORDS  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  UPON 
J.  J.  ROUSSEAU. 

On  hearing  these  singular  words  spoken  by  a man  whom 
he  did  not  know,  Rousseau,  trembling  and  unhappy, 
plunged  into  the  crowd ; and  without  remembering  that 
he  was  old  and  naturally  timid,  elbowed  his  way  through 
it.  He  soon  reached  the  bridge  of  Notre-Dame  ; then,  still 
plunged  in  his  revery,  and  muttering  to  himself,  he  crossed 
the  quarter  of  La  Greve,  taking  the  shortest  way  to  his 
own  dwelling. 

“So,”  said  he  to  himself,  “ this  secret,  which  the  in- 
itiated guard  at  the  peril  of  their  lives,  is  in  possession  of 
the  first  comer.  This  is  what  mysterious  associations  gain 
by  passing  through  the  popular  sieve.  A man  recognizes 
me  who  knows  that  I shall  be  his  associate,  perhaps  his 
accomplice,  yonder.  Such  a state  of  things  is  absurd  and 
intolerable ; ” and  while  he  spoke,  Rousseau  walked  for- 
ward quickly,  — he,  usually  so  cautious,  especially  since 
his  accident  in  the  Rue  Menilmontant. 

“ Thus,”  continued  the  philosopher,  “ I must  wish,  for- 
sooth, to  sound  to  the  bottom  these  plans  of  human  regen- 
eration which  some  spirits  who  boast  of  the  title  of 
6 illuminati 9 propose  to  carry  out.  I was  foolish  enough 
to  imagine  that  any  good  ideas  could  come  from  Germany, 
— that  land  of  beer  and  fog,  — and  may  have  compro- 
mised my  name  by  joining  it  to  those  of  fools  or  plot- 
ters, whom  it  will  serve  as  a cloak  to  shelter  their  folly. 


INFLUENCE  OF  THE  WORDS  OF  THE  UNKNOWN.  1 1 


Oh,  no ! it  shall  not  be  thus.  No ; a flash  of  lightning 
has  shown  me  the  abyss,  and  I will  not  rashly  throw 
myself  into  it.” 

Rousseau  paused  to  take  breath,  resting  upon  his  cane, 
and  standing  motionless  for  a moment.  “Yet  it  was  a 
beautiful  chimera,”  he  continued.  “ Liberty  in  the  midst 
of  slavery,  — the  future  conquered  without  noise  and 
struggle,  — the  snare  mysteriously  woven  while  earth’s 
tyrants  slept.  It  was  too  beautiful ! I was  a fool  to  be- 
lieve it ! I will  not  be  the  sport  of  fears,  of  suspicions, 
of  shadows,  which  are  unworthy  of  a free  spirit  and  an 
independent  body.” 

He  had  thus  far  communed  with  himself,  and  was  con- 
tinuing his  progress,  when  the  sight  of  some  of  Monsieur 
de  Sartines*  agents  gazing  round  with  their  ubiquitous 
eyes  frightened  the  free  spirit,  and  gave  such  an  impulse 
to  the  independent  body  that  he  plunged  into  the  deepest 
shadows  of  the  pillars  near  which  he  was  walking.  From 
these  pillars  it  was  not  far  to  the  Rue  Plastriere.  Rousseau 
passed  rapidly  over  that  distance,  ascended  the  stairs  to 
his  domicile,  breathing  like  a stag  pursued  by  the  hunters, 
and  sank  upon  a chair,  unable  to  utter  a word  in  answer  to 
all  Therese’s  questions. 

At  last  he  recovered  sufficiently  to  account  for  his  emo- 
tion ; it  w^as  the  walk,  the  heat,  the  news  of  the  king’s 
angry  remarks  at  the  bed  of  justice,  the  commotion  caused 
by  the  popular  terror,  — a sort  of  panic,  in  short,  which 
had  spread  among  all  who  witnessed  what  had  happened. 

Therese  grumblingly  replied  that  all  that  w^as  no  reason 
for  allowing  the  dinner  to  cool ; and,  moreover,  that  a 
man  ought  not  to  be  such  a cowardly  weakling  as  to  be 
frightened  at  the  least  noise. 

Rousseau  could  make  no  reply  to  this  last  argument, 
which  he  himself  had  so  frequently  stated  in  other  terms. 


12 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Therese  added  that  these  philosophers,  these  imaginative 
people,  were  all  the  same  ; that  they  always  talked  very 
grandly  in  their  writings,  they  said  that  they  feared  noth- 
ing ; that  God  and  man  were  very  little  to  them  : but  at 
the  slightest  barking  of  the  smallest  poodle,  they  cried, 
“ Help  ! ” — at  the  least  feverishness  they  exclaimed,  “ My 
God  ! I am  dead.” 

This  was  one  of  Therese’s  favorite  themes,  that  which 
most  excited  her  eloquence,  and  to  which  Rousseau,  who 
was  naturally  timid,  found  it  most  difficult  to  reply. 
Rousseau,  therefore,  pursued  his  own  thoughts  to  the 
sound  of  this  discordant  music,  — thoughts  which  were 
certainly  as  valuable  as  Therese’s,  notwithstanding  the 
abuse  the  latter  showered  so  plentifully  on  him. 

“ Happiness,”  said  he,  “ is  composed  of  perfume  and 
noise ; now,  noise  and  perfume  are  conventional  things. 
Who  can  prove  that  the  onion  smells  less  sweet  than  the 
rose,  or  that  the  peacock  sings  less  melodiously  than  the 
nightingale?”  after  which  axiom,  which  might  pass  for 
an  excellent  paradox,  they  sat  down  to  table. 

After  dinner  Rousseau  did  not,  as  usual,  sit  down  to  his 
harpsichord.  He  paced  up  and  down  the  apartment,  and 
stopped  a hundred  times  to  look  out  of  the  window,  ap- 
parently studying  the  physiognomy  of  the  Rue  Plastriere. 
Therese  was  forthwith  seized  with  one  of  those  fits  of  jeal- 
ousy which  peevish  people  — that  is  to  say,  the  least  really 
jealous  people  in  the  world  — often  indulge  in  for  the  sake 
of  opposition.  For  if  there  is  a disagreeable  affectation 
in  the  world,  it  is  the  affectation  of  a fault ; the  affectation 
of  virtue  may  be  tolerated. 

Therese,  who  held  Rousseau’s  age,  complexion,  mind, 
and  manners  in  the  utmost  contempt;  who  thought  him 
old,  sickly,  and  ugly,  — did  not  fear  that  any  one  would 
run  off  witli  her  husband ; she  never  dreamed  that  other 


INFLUENCE  OF  THE  WORDS  OF  THE  UNKNOWN.  13 


women  might  look  upon  him  with  other  feelings  than  her 
own.  But  as  the  pains  inflicted  by  jealousy  constitute 
woman’s  favorite  mode  of  punishment,  Therese  sometimes 
indulged  herself  in  the  pleasure  of  administering  them. 
Seeing  Bousseau,  therefore,  approach  the  window  so  fre- 
quently, and  observing  his  dreaming  and  restless  air,  she 
said : “ Very  good  ! I understand  your  agitation ; you 
have  just  left  some  one.” 

Bousseau  turned  to  her  with  a startled  look,  which 
served  as  an  additional  proof  of  the  truth  of  her 
suspicions. 

“ Some  one  you  wish  to  see  again  h ” she  continued. 

“ What  do  you  say  1 ” asked  Bousseau. 

“ Yes,  we  make  assignations,  it  seems.” 

“ Oh  ! ” said  Bousseau,  comprehending  that  Therese  was 
jealous,  — “ an  assignation  ! You  are  mad,  Therese  ! ” 

“ I know  perfectly  well  that  it  would  be  madness  in 
you,”  said  she ; 66  but  you  are  capable  of  any  folly.  Go, 
go,  with  your  papier-mache  complexion,  your  palpitations, 
and  your  coughs,  — go,  and  make  conquests  ! It  is  one 
way  of  getting  on  in  the  world  ! ” 

“ But,  Therese,  you  know  there  is  not  a word  of  truth 
in  what  you  are  saying  ! ” said  Bousseau,  angrily.  “ Let 
me  think  in  peace.” 

“You  are  a libertine ! ” said  Therese,  with  the  utmost 
seriousness. 

Bousseau  reddened  as  if  she  had  hit  the  truth,  or  as  if 
he  had  received  a compliment.  Therese  forthwith  thought 
herself  justified  in  putting  on  a terrible  countenance,  turn- 
ing the  whole  household  upside  down,  slamming  the  doors 
violently,  and  playing  with  Bousseau's  tranquillity  as 
children  play  with  those  metal  rings  which  they  shut  up 
in  a box  and  shake  to  make  a noise. 

Bousseau  took  refuge  in  his  cabinet;  this  uproar  had 


14 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


rather  confused  his  ideas.  He  reflected  that  there  would 
doubtless  be  some  danger  in  not  being  present  at  the 
mysterious  ceremony  of  which  the  stranger  had  spoken  at 
the  corner  of  the  Quai.  “ If  there  are  punishments  for 
traitors,  there  will  also  be  punishments  for  the  lukewarm 
or  careless,”  thought  he.  “Now  I have  always  remarked 
that  great  dangers  mean  in  reality  nothing,  just  like  loud 
threats.  The  cases  in  which  either  are  productive  of 
any  result  are  extremely  rare ; but  petty  revenges,  under- 
hand attacks,  mischievous  tricks,  and  other  such  small 
coin,  — these  we  must  be  on  our  guard  against.  Some 
day  the  masonic  brothers  may  repay  my  contempt  by 
stretching  a string  across  my  staircase  ; I shall  stumble 
over  it  and  break  a leg,  or  the  six  or  eight  teeth  I have 
left.  Or  else  they  will  have  a stone  ready  to  fall  upon 
my  head  when  I am  passing  under  a scaffolding ; or,  bet- 
ter still,  there  may  be  some  pamphleteer  belonging  to  the 
fraternity  living  quite  near  me,  upon  the  same  floor,  per- 
haps, looking  from  his  windows  into  my  room.  That  is 
not  impossible,  since  the  reunions  take  place  even  in  the 
Rue  Plastriere.  Well,  this  wretch  will  write  stupid  lam- 
poons on  me,  which  will  make  me  ridiculous  all  over  Paris. 
Have  I not  enemies  everywhere  ] ” 

A moment  afterward  Rousseau’s  thoughts  took  a differ- 
ent turn.  “Well,”  said  he  to  himself,  “but  where  is 
courage  ] Where  is  honor  ] Shall  I be  afraid  of  myself] 
Shall  I see  in  my  glass  only  the  face  of  a coward,  — a 
slave  ] No,  it  shall  not  be  so.  Though  the  whole  world 
should  combine  to  rum  me,  though  the  houses  of  the 
street  should  fall  upon  me,  I will  go.  What  pitiable 
reasoning  does  fear  produce  ! Since  I met  this  man  I 
have  been  continually  turning  in  a circle  of  absurdities. 
I doubt  every  one,  even  myself ! That  is  not  logical.  I 
know  myself,  I am  not  an  enthusiast ; if  I thought  I saw 


INFLUENCE  OF  THE  WORDS  OF  THE  UNKNOWN.  15 


wonders  in  this  projected  association,  it  is  because  there 
are  wonders  in  it.  Who  will  say  I may  not  be  the  re- 
generator of  the  human  race,  — I,  who  am  sought  after,  — 
I,  whom  the  mysterious  agents  of  an  unlimited  power 
have  come  to  consult  on  the  faith  set  forth  in  my  works  1 
Shall  I recoil  when  the  time  has  come  to  follow  up  my 
work,  to  substitute  practice  for  theory  ? ” 

Rousseau  became  animated.  “ What  can  be  more  beau- 
tiful ! Ages  roll  on ; the  people  rise  out  of  their  brutish- 
ness ; step  follows  step  in  the  darkness,  toward  the  hand 
stretched  out  in  the  shadows ; the  immense  pyramid  is 
raised,  upon  the  summit  of  which,  as  its  crowning  glory, 
future  ages  shall  place  the  bust  of  Rousseau,  citizen  of 
Geneva,  who  risked  his  liberty,  his  life,  that  he  might  act 
as  he  had  spoken,  — that  he  might  be  faithful  to  his 
motto,  * Yitam  impendere  vero.’  99 

Thereupon  Rousseau,  in  a fit  of  enthusiasm,  seated  him- 
self at  his  harpsichord,  and  exalted  his  imagination  by  the 
loudest,  the  most  sonorous,  and  the  most  warlike  melodies 
he  could  call  forth  from  its  sounding  cavity. 

Night  closed  in.  Th^rese,  wearied  with  her  vain  en- 
deavors to  torment  her  captive,  had  fallen  asleep  upon  her 
chair.  Rousseau,  with  beating  heart,  took  his  new  coat, 
as  if  to  go  out  on  a pleasure  excursion,  glanced  for  a mo- 
ment in  the  glass  at  the  play  of  his  black  eyes,  and  was 
charmed  to  find  that  they  were  sparkling  and  expressive. 

He  grasped  his  knotted  stick  in  his  hand,  and  slipped 
out  of  the  room  without  awakening  Therese.  But  when 
he  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  had  drawn  back 
the  bolt  of  the  street-door,  Rousseau  paused  and  looked 
out,  to  assure  himself  as  to  the  condition  of  the  neighbor- 
hood. 

No  carriage  was  passing.  The  street,  as  usual,  was  full 
of  idlers  gazing  at  each  other,  as  they  do  at  this  day,  while 


16 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


many  stopped  at  the  shop-windows  to  ogle  the  pretty 
girls  ; a new-comer  would  therefore  he  quite  unnoticed 
in  such  a crowd.  Rousseau  plunged  into  it ; he  had  not 
far  to  go.  A ballad-singer,  with  a cracked  violin,  was 
stationed  before  the  door  which  had  been  pointed  out  to 
him.  This  music,  to  which  every  true  Parisian’s  ear  is 
extremely  sensitive,  filled  the  street  with  echoes  which 
repeated  the  last  bars  of  the  air  sung  by  the  violin  or  by 
the  singer  himself.  Nothing  could  be  more  unfavorable, 
therefore,  to  the  free  passage  along  the  street  than  the 
crowd  gathered  at  this  spot,  and  the  passers-by  were 
obliged  to  turn  either  to  the  right  or  left  of  the  group. 
Those  who,  going  in  one  direction,  turned  to  the  left,  took 
the  centre  of  the  street ; those  to  the  right,  brushed  along 
the  side  of  the  house  indicated,  and  vice  versa  with  those 
going  in  the  other  direction. 

Rousseau  remarked  that  several  of  these  passers-by  disap- 
peared on  the  way,  as  if  they  had  fallen  into  some  trap.  He 
concluded  that  these  people  had  come  with  the  same  pur- 
pose as  himself,  and  determined  to  imitate  their  manoeuvre. 
It  was  not  difficult  to  accomplish.  Having  stationed  him- 
self in  the  rear  of  the  assembly  of  listeners,  as  if  to  join 
their  number,  he  watched  the  first  person  whom  he  saw 
entering  the  open  alley.  More  timid  than  they,  probably 
because  he  had  more  to  risk,  he  waited  until  a particularly 
favorable  opportunity  should  present  itself. 

He  did  not  wait  long.  A cabriolet  which  drove  along 
the  street  divided  the  circle,  and  caused  the  two  hemi- 
spheres to  fall  back  upon  the  houses  on  either  side. 
Rousseau  thus  found  himself  driven  to  the  very  entrance 
of  the  passage;  he  had  only  to  walk  on.  He  observed 
that  all  the  idlers  were  looking  at  the  cabriolet,  and  had 
turned  their  backs  on  the  house;  he  took  advantage  of 
this  circumstance,  and  disappeared  in  the  dark  passage. 


INFLUENCE  OF  THE  WORDS  OF  THE  UNKNOWN.  17 


After  advancing  a few  steps  he  perceived  a lamp,  be- 
neath which  a man  was  seated  quietly,  like  a stall-keeper 
after  the  day’s  business  was  over,  reading,  or  seeming  to 
read,  a newspaper.  At  the  sound  of  Rousseau’s  footsteps 
this  man  raised  his  head  and  placed  his  finger  upon  his 
breast,  upon  which  the  lamp  threw  a strong  light.  Rous- 
seau replied  to  this  symbolic  gesture  by  raising  his  finger 
to  his  lips. 

The  man  then  immediately  rose,  and  pushing  open  a 
door  at  his  right  hand,  so  artificially  concealed  in  the 
wooden  panel,  of  which  it  formed  a part,  as  to  be  wholly 
invisible,  he  showed  Rousseau  a very  steep  staircase  which 
descended  underground.  Rousseau  entered,  and  the  door 
closed  quickly  but  noiselessly  after  him. 

The  philosopher  descended  the  steps  slowly,  assisted 
by  his  cane.  He  thought  it  rather  disrespectful  that  the 
brothers  should  cause  him,  at  this  his  first  interview,  to 
run  the  risk  of  breaking  his  neck  or  his  legs.  But  the 
stair,  if  steep,  was  not  long.  Rousseau  counted  seventeen 
steps,  and  then  felt  as  if  suddenly  plunged  into  a highly 
heated  atmosphere. 

This  moist  heat  proceeded  from  the  breath  of  a consid- 
erable number  of  men  who  were  assembled  in  the  low 
hall.  Rousseau  remarked  that  the  walls  were  tapestried 
with  red  and  white  drapery,  on  which  figures  of  various 
implements  of  labor,  rather  symbolic,  doubtless,  than  real, 
were  depicted.  A single  lamp  hung  from  the  vaulted 
ceiling,  and  threw  a gloomy  light  upon  the  faces  of  those 
present,  who  were  conversing  with  each  other  on  the 
wooden  benches,  and  who  had  the  appearance  of  honest 
and  respectable  citizens. 

The  floor  was  neither  polished  nor  carpeted,  but  was 
covered  with  a thick  mat  of  plaited  rushes,  which  dead- 
ened the  sound  of  the  footsteps.  Rousseau’s  entrance 

VOL.  hi.  — 2 


18 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


therefore  produced  no  sensation ; no  one  seemed  to  have 
remarked  it. 

Five  minutes  previously  Rousseau  had  longed  for  noth- 
ing so  much  as  such  an  entrance ; and  yet  when  he  had 
entered,  he  felt  annoyed  that  he  had  succeeded  so  well. 
He  saw  an  unoccupied  place  on  one  of  the  back  benches, 
and  installed  himself  as  modestly  as  possible  on  this  seat, 
behind  all  the  others.  He  counted  thirty-three  heads  in 
the  assembly.  A desk,  placed  upon  a platform,  seemed 
to  wait  for  a president. 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUE  PLASTRIERE. 


19 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUE  PLASTRIERE. 

Rousseau  remarked  that  the  conversation  of  those  present 
was  very  cautious  and  reserved.  Many  did  not  open  their 
lips,  and  scarcely  three  or  four  couples  exchanged  a few 
words.  Those  who  did  not  speak  endeavored  even  to  con- 
ceal their  faces,  which  was  not  difficult,  thanks  to  the  great 
body  of  shadow  cast  by  the  platform  of  the  expected 
president.  The  refuge  of  these  last,  who  seemed  to  be  the 
timid  individuals  of  the  assembly,  was  behind  this  plat- 
form. But  in  return,  two  or  three  members  of  the  com- 
pany gave  themselves  a great  deal  of  trouble  to  recognize 
their  colleagues.  They  came  and  went,  talked  among 
themselves,  and  frequently  disappeared  through  a door 
before  which  was  drawn  a black  curtain,  ornamented  with 
red  flames. 

In  a short  time  a bell  was  rung.  A man  immediately 
rose  from  the  end  of  the  bench  upon  which  he  was  seated, 
and  where  he  had  been  associated  with  the  other  free- 
masons, and  took  his  place  upon  the  platform.  After 
making  signs  with  the  hands  and  fingers,  which  were 
repeated  by  all  those  present,  and  adding  a last  sign  more 
explicit  than  the  others,  he  declared  the  sitting  opened. 

This  man  was  entirely  unknown  to  Rousseau.  Beneath 
the  exterior  of  a working-man  in  easy  circumstances  he 
concealed  great  presence  of  mind,  aided  by  an  elocution 
as  flowing  as  could  have  been  wished  for  in  an  orator. 
His  speech  was  brief,  and  to  the  point.  He  declared  that 


20 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


the  lodge  had  been  assembled  to  proceed  to  the  election 
of  a new  brother. 

“ You  will  not  be  surprised,”  said  he,  “ that  we  have 
assembled  you  in  a place  where  the  usual  ceremonies  can- 
not be  performed.  These  ceremonies  have  seemed  useless 
to  the  chiefs ; the  brother  whom  we  are  to  receive  to-day 
is  one  of  the  lights  of  contemporary  philosophy,  — a 
thoughtful  spirit,  who  will  be  devoted  to  us  from  con- 
viction, not  from  fear.  One  who  has  discovered  all  the 
mysteries  of  nature  and  of  the  human  heart  cannot  be 
treated  in  the  same  manner  as  the  simple  mortal  from 
whom  we  demand  the  help  of  his  arm,  his  will,  and  his 
gold.  That  we  may  have  the  co-operation  of  his  distin- 
guished mind,  of  his  honest  and  energetic  character,  his 
promise  and  his  assent  are  sufficient.” 

The  speaker,  when  he  had  concluded,  looked  round  to 
mark  the  effect  of  his  words.  Upon  Rousseau  the  effect 
had  been  magical ; the  Genevese  philosopher  was  ac- 
quainted with  the  preparatory  mysteries  of  freemasonry, 
and  looked  upon  them  with  the  repugnance  natural  to 
enlightened  minds.  The  concessions,  absurd  because  they 
were  useless,  which  the  chiefs  required  from  the  can- 
didates, that  they  might  simulate  fear  when  every  one 
knew  there  was  nothing  to  fear,  seemed  to  him  to  be  the 
acme  of  puerility  and  senseless  superstition. 

Besides  this,  the  timid  philosopher,  an  enemy  to  all 
personal  exhibitions  and  manifestations,  would  have  felt 
most  unhappy  had  he  been  obliged  to  serve  as  a spectacle 
for  people  whom  he  did  not  know,  and  who  would  have 
certainly  played  their  jokes  upon  him  with  more  or  less 
good  faith.  That  these  ceremonies  should  in  his  case  be 
omitted  was  therefore  more  than  a satisfaction  to  him. 
He  knew  the  strictness  with  which  equality  was  enforced 
by  the  masonic  principles ; therefore  an  exception  in  his 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUE  PLASTRI&RE. 


21 


favor  constituted  a triumph.  He  was  preparing  to  say 
some  words  in  reply  to  the  gracious  address  of  the  presi- 
dent, when  a voice  was  heard  among  the  audience. 

“ At  least/’  said  this  voice,  which  was  sharp  and  dis- 
cordant, “ since  you  think  yourselves  obliged  to  treat  in 
this  princely  fashion  a man  like  ourselves,  since  you 
dispense  in  his  case  with  physical  pains,  as  if  the  pursuit 
of  liberty  through  bodily  suffering  were  not  one  of  our 
symbols,  we  hope  you  will  not  confer  a precious  title 
upon  an  unknown  person  without  having  questioned  him 
according  to  the  usual  ritual,  and  without  having  received 
his  profession  of  faith.” 

Rousseau  turned  round  to  discover  the  features  of  the 
aggressive  person  who  so  rudely  jostled  his  triumphant 
car,  and  with  the  greatest  surprise  recognized  the  young 
surgeon  whom  he  had  that  morning  met  upon  the  Quai- 
aux-Eleurs.  A conviction  of  his  own  honesty  of  purpose, 
perhaps  also  a feeling  of  disdain  for  the  “ precious  title,” 
prevented  him  from  replying. 

“ You  have  heard  ? ” said  the  president,  addressing 
Rousseau. 

“ Perfectly,”  replied  the  philosopher,  who  trembled 
slightly  at  the  sound  of  his  voice  as  it  echoed  from  the 
vaulted  roof  of  the  dark  hall,  “and  I am  the  more  surprised 
at  the  interpellation  when  I see  from  whom  it  proceeds. 
What ! a man  whose  profession  it  is  to  combat  what  is 
called  physical  suffering,  and  to  assist  his  brethren,  who  are 
common  men  as  well  as  freemasons,  preaches  the  utility  of 
physical  suffering ! He  chooses  a singular  path  through 
which  to  lead  the  creature  to  happiness,  the  sick  to  health.” 

“We  do  not  here  speak  of  this  or  that  person,”  replied 
the  young  man,  warmly ; “ I am  supposed  to  be  unknown 
to  the  candidate,  and  he  to  me.  I am  merely  the  utterer 
of  an  abstract  truth,  and  I assert  that  the  chief  has  done 


22 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


wrong  in  making  an  exception  in  favor  of  any  one.  I do 
not  recognize  in  him/'  pointing  to  Rousseau,  “ the  philos- 
opher, and  he  must  not  recognize  the  surgeon  in  me.  We 
shall  perhaps  walk  side  by  side  through  life,  without  a 
look  or  gesture  betraying  our  intimacy,  which  nevertheless, 
thanks  to  the  laws  of  the  association,  is  more  binding  than 
all  vulgar  friendships.  I repeat,  therefore,  that  if  it  has 
been  thought  well  to  spare  this  candidate  the  usual  trials, 
he  ought  at  least  to  have  the  usual  questions  put  to  him.” 

Rousseau  made  no  reply.  The  president  saw  depicted 
on  his  features  disgust  at  this  discussion,  and  regret  at 
having  engaged  in  the  enterprise.  “Brother,”  said  he, 
authoritatively  to  the  young  man,  “you  will  please  be 
silent  when  the  chief  speaks,  and  do  not  venture  on  light 
grounds  to  blame  his  actions,  which  are  sovereign  here.” 

“ I have  a right  to  speak,”  replied  the  young  man,  more 
gently. 

“ To  speak,  yes  ; but  not  to  blame.  The  brother  who 
is  about  to  enter  our  association  is  so  well  known  that  we 
have  no  wish  to  employ  in  our  masonic  relations  with  him 
a ridiculous  and  useless  mystery.  All  the  brothers  here 
present  know  his  name,  and  his  name  itself  is  a perfect 
guarantee.  But  as  he  himself,  I am  certain,  loves  equality, 
I request  him  to  answer  the  question  which  I shall  put 
to  him  merely  for  form:  ‘What  do  you  seek  in  this 
association  1 ’ ” 

Rousseau  made  two  steps  forward  in  advance  of  the 
crowd,  and  his  dreamy  and  melancholy  eye  wandered  over 
the  assembly.  “ I seek,”  said  he,  “ that  which  I do  not 
find,  — truths,  not  sophisms.  Why  should  you  surround 
me  with  poniards  which  do  not  wound,  with  poisons 
which  are  only  clear  water,  and  with  traps  under  which 
mattresses  are  spread  ! I know  the  extent  of  human  en- 
durance. I know  the  vigor  of  my  physical  frame.  If  you 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUE  PLASTRIERE. 


23 


were  to  destroy  it,  it  would  not  be  worth  your  while  to 
elect  me  a brother,  for  when  dead  I could  be  of  no  use 
to  you.  Therefore  you  do  not  wish  to  kill  me,  still  less  to 
wound  me  ; and  all  the  doctors  in  the  world  would  not 
make  me  approve  of  an  initiation  in  the  course  of  which 
my  limbs  had  been  broken.  I have  served  a longer  ap- 
prenticeship to  pain  than  any  of  you  ; I have  sounded  the 
body,  and  probed  even  to  the  soul.  If  I consented  to 
come  among  you  when  I was  solicited”  — and  he  laid 
particular  emphasis  on  the  word,  — “it  was  because  I 
thought  I might  be  useful.  I give,  therefore ; I do  not 
receive.  Alas ! before  you  could  do  anything  to  defend 
me,  before  you  could  restore  me  to  liberty  were  I impris- 
oned, before  you  could  give  me  bread  if  I were  starving, 
or  consolation  if  I were  afflicted,  — before,  I repeat,  you 
could  do  anything,  the  brother  whom  you  admit  to-day, 
if  this'  gentleman,”  turning  to  Marat,  “permits  it,  — this 
brother  will  have  paid  the  last  tribute  of  nature ; for  pro- 
gress is  halting,  light  is  slow,  and  from  the  grave  into 
which  he  will  be  thrown,  none  of  you  can  raise  him.” 

“ You  are  mistaken,  illustrious  brother,”  said  a mild 
and  penetrating  voice,  which  charmed  Rousseau’s  ear ; 
“ there  is  more  than  you  think  in  the  association  into 
which  you  are  about  to  enter,  — there  is  the  whole  future 
destiny  of  the  world.  The  future,  you  are  aware,  is  hope, 
is  science,  — the  future  is  God,  who  will  give  his  light 
to  the  world,  since  he  has  promised  to  give  it ; for  God 
cannot  lie.” 

Astonished  at  this  elevated  language,  Rousseau  looked 
around  and  recognized  the  young  man  who  had  made  the 
appointment  with  him  in  the  morning  at  the  bed  of  justice. 
This  man,  who  was  dressed  in  black  with  great  neatness, 
and  was  characterized  especially  by  a marked  air  of  dis- 
tinction, was  leaning  against  the  side  of  the  platform,  and 


24 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


his  face,  illumined  by  the  lamp,  shone  in  all  its  beauty, 

grace,  and  expressiveness. 

“ Ah  ! ” said  Bousseau,  “ science,  — the  bottomless 
abyss  ! You  speak  to  me  of  science,  consolation,  futurity, 
hope ; another  speaks  of  matter,  of  rigor,  and  of  violence. 
Whom  shall  I believe  ? Shall  it  be,  then,  in  this  assembly 
of  brothers  as  it  is  among  the  devouring  wolves  of  the 
world  which  stirs  above  us  ? Wolves  and  sheep  ! Listen 
to  my  profession  of  faith,  since  you  have  not  read  it  in 
my  books.” 

“ Your  books  ! ” exclaimed  Marat.  “ They  are  sublime, 
— I confess  it ; but  they  are  Utopias.  You  are  useful  in 
the  same  point  of  view  as  Pythagoras,  Solon,  and  Cicero 
the  sophist.  You  point  out  the  good,  but  it  is  an  artifi- 
cial, unsubstantial,  unattainable  good.  You  are  like  one 
who  would  feed  a hungry  crowd  with  air-bubbles,  more  or 
less  illumined  by  the  sun.” 

“ Have  you  ever  seen,”  said  Rousseau,  frowning,  “ great 
commotions  of  nature  take  place  without  preparation? 
Have  you  seen  the  birth  of  a man,  — that  common  and 
yet  sublime  event  ? Have  you  not  seen  him  collect  sub- 
stance and  life  in  the  womb  of  his  mother  for  nine  months  ? 
Ah  ! you  wish  me  to  regenerate  the  world  with  actions. 
That  is  not  to  regenerate,  Monsieur,  it  is  to  revolutionize  ! ” 

“ Then,”  retorted  the  young  surgeon,  violently,  “ you  do 
not  wish  for  independence ; you  do  not  wish  for  liberty  ! ” 

“ On  the  contrary,”  replied  Bousseau ; “ independence  is 
my  idol,  liberty  is  my  goddess.  But  I wish  for  a mild 
and  radiant  liberty,  — a liberty  which  warms  and  vivifies. 
I wish  for  an  equality  which  will  connect  men  by  ties  of 
friendship,  not  by  fear.  I wish  for  education,  for  the 
instruction  of  each  element  of  the  social  body,  as  the 
mechanic  wishes  for  harmonious  movement,  as  the  cabinet- 
maker wishes  for  perfect  exactness,  for  the  closest  fitting, 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUE  PLASTRIERE. 


25 


in  each  piece  of  his  work.  I repeat  it,  I wish  that  for 
which  I have  written,  — progress,  concord,  devotion.” 

A smile  of  disdain  flitted  over  Marat’s  lips.  4 4 Yes,” 
he  said,  44  rivulets  of  milk  and  honey,  Elysian  fields  like 
Virgil’s,  poetic  dreams  which  philosophy  would  make  a 
reality.” 

Rousseau  made  no  reply.  It  seemed  to  him  too  hard 
that  he  should  have  to  defend  his  moderation,  — he  whom 
all  Europe  called  a violent  innovator. 

He  took  his  seat  in  silence,  after  having  satisfied  his 
ingenuous  and  timid  mind  by  appealing  with  a glance  to 
the  person  who  had  just  before  defended  him,  and  obtain- 
ing his  tacit  approbation. 

The  president  rose.  44  You  have  all  heard  h ” said  he. 

44  Yes,”  replied  the  entire  assembly. 

44  Does  the  candidate  appear  to  you  worthy  of  entering 
the  association,  and  does  he  comprehend  its  duties  h ” 

44  Yes,”  replied  the  assembly  again  ; but  this  time  with 
a reserve  which  did  not  evince  much  unanimity. 

44  Take  the  oath,”  said  the  president  to  Rousseau. 

44  It  would  be  disagreeable  to  me,”  said  the  philosopher, 
with  some  pride,  44  to  displease  any  members  of  this  associa- 
tion ; and  I must  repeat  the  words  I made  use  of  just  now, 
as  they  are  the  expression  of  my  earnest  conviction.  If  I 
were  an  orator,  I would  put  them  in  a more  eloquent  man- 
ner; but  my  organ  of  speech  is  rebellious,  and  always 
betrays  my  thoughts  when  I ask  it  for  an  immediate  transla- 
tion. I wish  to  say  that  I can  do  more  for  the  world  and 
for  you  out  of  this  assembly,  than  I could  were  I strictly 
to  follow  your  usages.  Leave  me,  therefore,  to  my  work, 
to  my  weakness,  to  my  loneliness.  I have  told  you  I am 
descending  to  the  grave ; grief,  infirmity,  and  want  hurry 
me  on.  You  cannot  delay  this  great  work  of  nature. 
Abandon  me ; lam  not  made  for  the  society  of  men,  — I 


26 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


hate  and  avoid  them.  Nevertheless,  I serve  them,  because 
I am  a man  myself;  and  in  serving  them  I fancy  them 
better  than  they  are.  Now  you  have  my  whole  thought ; 
I shall  not  say  another  word.” 

“ Then  you  refuse  to  take  the  oath  'l  ” said  Marat,  with 
some  emotion. 

“ I refuse  positively ; I do  not  wish  to  join  the  associa- 
tion. I see  too  many  convincing  proofs  to  assure  me  that 
I should  be  useless  to  it.” 

“ Brother,”  said  the  unknown  personage  with  the  con* 
ciliatory  voice,  — “ allow  me  to  call  you  so,  for  we  are 
brothers,  independently  of  all  combinations  of  the  human 
mind,  — brother ! do  not  give  way  to  a very  natural  feel- 
ing of  irritation  ; sacrifice  your  legitimate  pride  ; do  for  us 
what  is  repulsive  to  yourself.  Your  advice,  your  ideas, 
your  presence,  are  light  to  our  paths.  Do  not  plunge 
us  in  the  twofold  darkness  of  your  absence  and  your 
refusal.” 

“ You  are  in  error,”  said  Bousseau ; " I take  nothing 
from  you,  since  I should  never  have  given  you  more  than 
I have  given  to  the  whole  world,  — to  the  first  chance 
reader,  to  the  first  consulter  of  the  journals.  If  you 
wish  for  the  name  and  essence  of  Rousseau  — ” 

“ We  do  wish  for  them  ! ” said  several  voices,  politely. 

“ Then  make  a collection  of  my  books ; place  them  upon 
the  table  of  your  president ; and  when  you  are  taking  the 
opinions  of  the  meeting,  and  my  turn  to  give  one  comes, 
open  my  books,  — you  will  find  my  counsel  and  my  vote 
there.” 

Rousseau  made  a step  toward  the  door. 

“ Stop  one  moment ! ” said  the  surgeon.  “ Mind  is  free, 
and  that  of  the  illustrious  philosopher  more  than  any 
other;  but  it  would  not  be  regular  to  have  allowed  a 
stranger  even  to  enter  our  sanctuary,  who,  not  being 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUE  PLASTRIERE.  27 

bound  by  any  tacit  agreement,  might,  without  dishonesty, 
reveal  our  mysteries.7 1 

Rousseau  smiled  compassionately.  “ You  want  an  oath 
of  secrecy  1 ” said  he. 

“ You  have  said  it.7  7 

“lam  ready.” 

“Be  good  enough  to  read  the  formula,  venerable 
brother,77  said  Marat. 

The  venerable  brother  read  the  following  form  of  oath  : 
“ I swear,  in  the  presence  of  the  Eternal  God,  the  Architect 
of  the  Universe,  and  before  my  superiors  and  the  respect- 
able assembly  which  surrounds  me,  never  to  reveal  or  to 
make  known  or  write  anything  which  has  happened  in 
my  presence,  under  penalty,  in  case  of  indiscretion,  of 
being  punished  according  to  the  laws  of  the  Great  Founder, 
of  my  superiors,  and  the  anger  of  my  fathers.77 

Rousseau  had  already  raised  his  hand  to  swear,  when 
the  unknown,  who  had  followed  the  progress  of  the  debate 
with  a sort  of  authority  which  no  one  seemed  to  dispute, 
although  he  was  not  distinguished  from  the  crowd, 
approached  the  president,  and  whispered  some  words  in 
his  ear. 

“ True,77  said  the  venerable  chief;  and  he  added  : “You 
are  a man,  not  a brother ; you  are  a man  of  honor,  placed 
toward  us  only  in  the  position  of  a fellow-man.  We  here 
abjure,  therefore,  our  distinguishing  peculiarity,  and  ask 
from  you  merely  your  word  of  honor  to  forget  what  has 
passed  between  us.77 

“ Like  a dream  of  the  morning,  — I swear  it  upon  my 
honor,77  said  Rousseau,  with  emotion.  With  these  words 
he  retired,  and  many  of  the  members  followed  him. 


28 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  REPORT. 

When  the  members  of  the  second  and  third  orders  had 
gone,  seven  of  the  associates  remained.  They  were  the 
leading  members  of  the  chapter.  They  recognized  each 
other  by  means  of  signs  which  proved  their  initiation  to  a 
superior  degree. 

Their  first  care  was  to  close  the  doors.  Then  their  pres- 
ident made  himself  known  by  displaying  a ring,  on  which 
were  engraved  the  mysterious  letters,  L.  P.  D.1 

This  president  was  charged  with  the  most  important 
correspondence  of  the  order.  He  was  in  communication 
with  the  six  other  chiefs,  who  dwelt  in  Switzerland,  Rus- 
sia, America,  Sweden,  Spain,  and  Italy.  He  brought  with 
him  some  of  the  most  important  documents  he  had  re- 
ceived from  his  colleagues,  in  order  to  communicate  their 
contents  to  the  superior  circle  of  initiated  brothers,  who 
were  above  the  others  but  beneath  him.  We  have  already 
recognized  this  chief  ; it  was  Balsamo. 

The  most  important  of  the  letters  contained  threatening 
intelligence.  It  was  from  Sweden,  and  had  been  written  by 
Swedenborg.  “ Watch  the  South,  brothers/’  it  said ; “ un- 
der its  burning  rays  has  been  hatched  a traitor  who  will 
ruin  you.  Watch  in  Paris,  brothers,  — the  traitor  dwells 
there  ; he  possesses  the  secrets  of  the  order ; a feeling  of 
hatred  urges  him  on.  A murmuring  voice,  a rustling 
flight,  whispers  the  denunciation  in  my  ear.  I see  a ter- 

1 Lilia  pedibus  destrue. 


THE  REPORT. 


29 


rible  vengeance  coming,  but  perhaps  it  will  be  too  late. 
In  the  mean  time,  brothers,  watch  ! watch  ! A traitorous 
tongue,  even  though  it  be  uninstructed,  is  sometimes  suffi- 
cient to  overthrow  our  most  skilfully  constructed  plans.” 

The  brothers  looked  at  each  other  in  mute  surprise. 
The  language  of  the  fierce  old  sage,  his  prescience,  which 
had  acquired  an  imposing  authority  from  many  striking 
examples,  contributed  in  no  small  degree  to  cast  a gloom 
over  the  meeting  at  which  Balsamo  presided.  Balsamo 
himself,  who  placed  implicit  faith  in  Swedenborg’s  second- 
sight,  could  not  resist  the  serious  and  painful  impression 
made  on  him  by  the  reading  of  that  letter.  “ Brothers,” 
said  he,  “ the  inspired  prophet  is  rarely  deceived.  Watch, 
then,  as  he  bids  you.  You  know  now,  as  I do,  that  the 
struggle  has  begun.  Let  us  not  be  conquered  by  these 
ridiculous  enemies,  whose  power  we  sap  in  the  utmost 
security.  You  must  not  forget  that  they  have  mercenary 
swords  at  their  command,  — powerful  weapons  in  this 
world,  among  those  who  do  not  see  beyond  the  limits  of 
our  terrestrial  life.  Brothers,  let  us  distrust  these  hired 
traitors.” 

“ These  fears  seem  to  me  puerile,”  said  a voice ; “ we 
gather  strength  daily,  and  we  are  directed  by  brilliant 
genius  and  powerful  hands.” 

Balsamo  bowed  his  thanks  for  the  flattering  eulogy. 

“ Yes,  but  as  our  illustrious  president  has  said,  treason 
creeps  everywhere,”  replied  a brother,  who  was  no  other 
than  the  surgeon  Marat,  promoted,  notwithstanding  his 
youth,  to  a superior  grade,  in  virtue  of  which  he  now  sat 
for  the  first  time  on  a consulting  committee.  “ Remem- 
ber,  brothers,  that  by  doubling  the  bait,  you  may  make  a 
more  important  capture.  If  Monsieur  de  Sartines  with  a 
bag  of  crown-pieces  can  purchase  the  revelations  of  one  of 
our  obscurer  brothers,  with  a million  or  with  holding  out 


30 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


the  hope  of  advancement,  he  may  buy  over  one  of  our 
superiors.  Now,  with  us,  the  obscurer  brother  knows 
nothing.  At  the  most  he  is  cognizant  of  the  names  of 
some  of  his  colleagues,  and  these  names  signify  nothing. 
Ours  is  an  excellent  constitution,  but  it  is  eminently 
aristocratic ; the  inferiors  know  nothing,  can  do  nothing. 
They  are  called  together  to  say  or  to  hear  trifles,  and  yet 
they  contribute  their  time  and  their  money  to  increase  the 
solidity  of  our  edifice.  Reflect  that  the  workman  brings 
only  the  stone  and  the  mortar ; but  without  stone  and 
mortar  could  you  build  the  house  ? Now,  the  workman 
receives  a very  small  salary,  but  I consider  him  equal  to 
the  architect  who  plans,  creates,  and  superintends  the 
whole  work ; and  I consider  him  equal  because  he  is  a 
man,  and  in  the  eyes  of  a philosopher  one  man  is  worth 
as  much  as  another,  seeing  that  he  bears  his  misfortunes 
and  his  fate  equally,  and  because,  even  more  than  another 
man,  he  is  exposed  to  the  fall  of  a stone  or  the  breaking 
of  a scaffold.” 

“ I must  interrupt  you,  brother,”  said  Balsamo.  “You 
diverge  from  the  question  which  alone  ought  to  occupy 
our  thoughts.  Your  failing,  brother,  is  that  you  are  over- 
zealous,  and  prone  to  generalize  discussions.  Our  business 
on  the  present  occasion  is  not  to  decide  whether  our  con- 
stitution be  good  or  bad,  but  to  uphold  the  integrity  of 
that  constitution  in  all  its  strength.  If  I wished,  how- 
ever, to  discuss  the  point  with  you,  I should  answer,  No ; 
the  instrument  which  receives  the  impulse  is  not  equal  to 
the  creating  genius ; the  workman  is  not  equal  to  the 
architect;  the  arm  is  not  equal  to  the  brain.” 

“ Suppose  Monsieur  de  Sartines  should  seize  one  of  our 
least  important  brethren,”  cried  Marat,  warmly,  “ would 
he  not  send  him  to  rot  in  the  Bastille  equally  with  you  or 
me 


THE  REPORT. 


31 


“ Granted  ; but  the  misfortune  in  that  case  is  for  the 
individual  only,  not  for  the  order,  which  with  us  should 
take  precedence  of  all  else.  If,  on  the  contrary,  the  chief 
is  imprisoned,  the  whole  conspiracy  is  at  an  end.  When 
the  general  is  absent,  the  army  loses  the  battle.  There- 
fore, brothers,  watch  over  the  safety  of  the  chiefs  ! ” 

“ Yes,  but  let  them  in  return  watch  over  ours.” 

“ That  is  their  duty.” 

“ And  let  their  faults  be  doubly  punished.” 

“ Again,  brother,  you  wander  from  the  constitution  of 
the  order.  Have  you  forgotten  that  the  oath  which  binds 
all  the  members  of  the  association  is  the  same,  and 
threatens  all  with  the  same  punishment?” 

“The  great  ones  always  escape.” 

“That  is  not  the  opinion  of  the  great  themselves,  bro- 
thers. Listen  to  the  conclusion  of  the  letter  which  one  of 
the  greatest  among  us,  our  prophet  Swedenborg,  has 
written.  This  is  what  he  adds  : ‘ The  blow  will  come 
from  one  of  the  mighty  ones,  one  of  the  mightiest  of  the 
order ; or  if  it  comes  not  directly  from  him,  the  fault  will 
be  traceable  to  him.  Remember  that  fire  and  water  may 
be  accomplices ; one  gives  light,  the  other  revelation. 
Watch,  brothers,  over  all  and  over  each,  watch  ! ’ ” 

“ Then,”  said  Marat,  seizing  upon  those  points  in  Bal- 
samo’s  speech  and  Swedenborg’s  letter  which  suited  his 
purpose,  “ let  us  repeat  the  oath  which  binds  us  together, 
and  let  us  pledge  ourselves  to  maintain  it  in  its  utmost 
vigor,  whosoever  he  may  be  who  shall  betray  us  or  be 
the  cause  of  our  betrayal.” 

Balsamo  paused  for  a moment,  and  then,  rising  from 
his  seat,  he  pronounced  the  consecrated  words,  with  which 
our  readers  are  already  acquainted,  in  a slow,  solemn, 
terrible  voice  : — 

“ In  the  name  of  the  crucified  Son,  I swear  to  break  all 


32 


MEMOTRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


the  bonds  of  nature  which  unite  me  to  father,  mother, 
brother,  sister,  wife,  relation,  friend,  mistress,  king,  benefac- 
tor, and  to  any  being  whatever  to  whom  I have  promised 
faith,  obedience,  gratitude,  or  service.  I swear  to  reveal 
to  the  chief,  whom  I acknowledge  according  to  the  statutes 
of  the  order,  all  that  I have  seen  or  done,  read  or  heard, 
learned  or  divined,  and  henceforward  to  search  out  and 
penetrate  into  that  which  may  not  openly  present  itself 
to  my  eyes.  I will  honor  poison,  steel,  and  fire  as  a 
means  of  ridding  the  world,  by  death  or  idiocy,  of  the 
enemies  of  truth  and  liberty.  I subscribe  to  the  law  of 
silence.  I consent  to  die,  as  if  struck  by  lightning,  on 
the  day  when  I shall  have  merited  this  punishment,  and 
I await,  without  murmuring,  the  knife  which  will  reach 
me,  in  whatsoever  part  of  the  world  I may  be.” 

Then  the  seven  men  who  composed  this  solemn  assem- 
bly repeated  the  oath,  word  for  word,  standing,  and  with 
uncovered  heads. 

When  the  words  of  the  oath  had  been  repeated  by  all, 
“ We  are  now  guaranteed  against  treachery,”  said  Balsamo  ; 
“ let  us  no  longer  mingle  extraneous  matter  with  our  dis- 
cussion. I have  to  make  my  report  to  the  committee  of 
the  principal  events  of  the  year.  My  summary  of  the 
affairs  of  France  may  have  interest  for  enlightened  and 
zealous  minds  like  yours ; I will  begin  with  it. 

“ France  is  situated  in  the  centre  of  Europe,  as  the  heart 
in  the  centre  of  the  body  ; it  lives,  and  radiates  life.  It  is 
in  its  palpitations  that  we  must  look  for  the  cause  of  all 
the  disorder  in  the  general  organization.  I came  to  France, 
therefore,  and  approached  Paris  as  a physician  approaches 
the  heart.  I listened,  I felt,  I experimented.  When  I 
entered  it  a year  ago,  the  monarchy  harassed  it ; to-day, 
vices  kill  it.  I found  it  necessary  to  hasten  the  effect  of 
these  fatal  debauches,  and  therefore  I assisted  them. 


THE  REPORT. 


33 


“ An  obstacle  was  in  my  way ; this  obstacle  was  a man, 
not  only  the  first,  but  the  most  powerful  man  in  the  State, 
next  to  the  king.  He  was  gifted  with  some  of  those  qual- 
ities which  please  other  men.  He  was  too  proud,  it  is 
true,  but  his  pride  was  applied  to  his  works.  He  knew 
how  to  lighten  the  subjection  of  the  people  by  making 
them  believe,  even  sometimes  to  see,  that  they  were  a 
portion  of  the  State ; and  by  consulting  them  on  their 
grievances,  he  raised  a standard  around  which  the  mass 
will  always  rally,  — the  spirit  of  nationality.  He  hated 
the  English,  the  natural  enemies  of  the  French;  he  hated 
the  favorite,  the  natural  enemy  of  the  working-classes. 
How,  if  this  man  would  have  been  a usurper,  if  he  would 
have  been  one  of  us,  if  he  would  have  trodden  in  our  path 
and  acted  for  our  ends,  — I would  have  assisted  him ; I 
would  have  kept  him  in  power ; I would  have  upheld  him 
by  the  resources  I am  able  to  create  for  my  proteges ; for 
instead  of  patching  up  decayed  royalty,  he  would  have 
assisted  us  in  overthrowing  it  on  the  appointed  day.  But 
he  belonged  to  the  aristocracy ; he  was  born  with  a feeling 
of  respect  for  that  first  rank  to  which  he  could  not  aspire, 
— for  the  monarchy,  which  he  dared  not  attack  ; he  served 
royalty  while  despising  the  king ; he  did  worse,  — he  acted 
as  a shield  to  this  royalty  against  which  our  blows  were  di- 
rected. The  parliament  and  the  people,  full  of  respect  for 
this  living  dike  which  opposed  itself  to  the  encroachments 
of  the  royal  prerogative,  limited  themselves  to  a moderate 
resistance,  certain  as  they  were  of  having  in  him  a power- 
ful assistant  when  the  moment  should  arrive. 

“ I understood  the  position  ; I undertook  Monsieur  de 
Choiseul’s  fall.  This  laborious  task,  at  which  for  ten 
years  so  much  hatred  and  interest  had  labored  in  vain,  I 
began  and  terminated  in  a few  months,  by  means  which 
it  would  be  useless  to  reveal  to  you.  By  a secret,  which 
vol.  hi.  — 3 


34 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


constitutes  one  of  my  powers,  — a power  the  greater,  be- 
cause it  will  remain  eternally  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  all, 
and  will  manifest  itself  only  by  its  effects,  — I overthrew 
and  banished  Monsieur  de  Choiseul,  and  attached  to  his 
overthrow  a long  train  of  regret,  disappointment,  lamen- 
tation, and  anger.  You  see  now  that  my  labor  bears  its 
fruit;  all  France  asks  for  Choiseul,  and  rises  to  demand 
him  back,  as  orphans  turn  to  heaven  when  God  has  taken 
away  their  earthly  parents. 

“ The  parliament  employs  the  only  right  it  possesses,  — 
the  right  of  inertia ; it  has  ceased  to  act.  In  a well- 
organized  body,  such  as  a State  of  the  first  rank  ought  to 
be,  the  paralysis  of  any  essential  organ  is  fatal.  Now,  the 
parliament  in  the  social,  is  what  the  stomach  is  in  the 
human,  body.  When  the  parliament  ceases  to  act,  the 
people  — the  intestines  of  the  State  — can  work  no  longer ; 
and  consequently  must  cease  to  pay,  and  the  gold  — that 
is,  the  blood  — will  be  wanting. 

“ There  will  be  a struggle,  no  doubt ; but  who  can  com- 
bat against  the  people  1 Not  the  army,  that  daughter  of 
the  people,  which  eats  the  bread  of  the  laborer  and  drinks 
the  wine  of  the  vine-grower.  There  remain  then  the 
king’s  household,  the  privileged  classes,  the  guards,  the 
Swiss,  the  musketeers,  — in  all,  scarce  five  or  six  thousand 
men.  What  can  this  handful  of  pygmies  do  when  the 
nation  shall  rise  like  a giant  ? ” 

“ Let  them  rise,  then ; let  them  rise ! ” cried  several 
voices. 

“ Yes,  yes,  to  the  work  ! ” exclaimed  Marat. 

“ Young  man,  I have  not  yet  consulted  you,”  said 
Balsamo,  coldly.  “ This  sedition  of  the  masses,”  contin- 
ued he,  “this  revolt  of  the  weak  become  strong  by  their 
number  against  the  powerful  single-handed,  less  thought- 
ful, less  ripened,  less  experienced  minds  would  arouse 


THE  REPORT. 


35 


immediately,  and  would  succeed  with  a facility  which 
terrifies  me.  But  I have  reflected  and  studied  ; I have 
mixed  with  the  people,  and  assuming  their  dress,  their 
perseverance,  even  their  coarseness,  I have  viewed  them 
so  closely  that  I have  made  myself,  as  it  were,  one  of 
themselves.  I know  them  now ; I cannot  he  deceived  in 
them.  They  are  strong,  but  ignorant ; irritable,  but  not 
revengeful.  In  a word,  they  are  not  yet  ripe  for  sedition 
such  as  I mean  and  wish  for.  They  want  the  instruction 
which  will  make  them  see  events  in  the  double  light  of 
example  and  utility ; they  want  the  memory  of  their  past 
experience. 

“ They  resemble  those  daring  young  men  whom  I have 
seen  in  Germany,  at  the  public  festivals,  eagerly  climb  a 
vessel’s  mast,  at  the  top  of  which  hung  a ham  and  a silver 
cup.  They  started  at  first  burning  with  eagerness,  and 
mounted  with  surprising  rapidity ; but  when  they  had 
almost  reached  the  goal,  when  they  had  only  to  extend 
the  arm  to  seize  their  prize,  their  strength  abandoned 
them,  and  they  slipped  to  the  bottom  amid  the  hootings 
of  the  crowd.  The  first  time  it  happened  as  I have  said ; 
the  second  time  they  husbanded  their  strength  and  their 
breath,  but  taking  more  time,  they  failed  by  their  slow- 
ness, as  they  had  before  failed  from  too  great  haste.  At 
last,  the  third  time,  they  took  a middle  course  between 
precipitation  and  delay ; and  this  time  they  succeeded. 
This  is  the  plan  I propose  : efforts,  never-ceasing  efforts, 
which  gradually  approach  the  goal,  until  the  day  arrives 
when  they  will  be  crowned  by  infallible  success.” 

Balsamo  ceased,  and  looked  around  upon  his  audience, 
among  whom  the  passions  of  youth  and  inexperience  were 
boiling  over.  “ Speak,  brother,”  said  he  to  Marat,  who 
was  more  agitated  than  the  others. 

“ I will  be  brief,”  said  Marat.  “ Efforts  soothe  the 


36 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


people  when  they  do  not  discourage  them.  Efforts  ! that 
is  the  theory  of  Monsieur  Rousseau,  citizen  of  Geneva,  a 
great  poet,  hut  a slow  and  timid  genius,  — a useless  citi- 
zen, whom  Plato  would  have  driven  from  his  republic  ! 
Wait ! Ever  wait ! Since  the  emancipation  of  the  com- 
mons, since  the  revolt  of  the  maillotins,  — for  seven  cen- 
turies we  have  waited  ! Count  the  generations  which  have 
died  in  the  mean  time,  and  then  dare  to  pronounce  the 
fatal  word  ‘ wait  * as  your  motto  of  the  future  ! Monsieur 
Rousseau  speaks  to  us  of  opposition  as  it  was  practised  in 
the  reign  of  the  Grand  Monarque,  as  Moliere  practised  it 
in  his  comedies,  Boileau  in  his  satires,  and  La  Fontaine 
in  his  fables,  — in  the  society  of  marchionesses  and  at  the 
feet  of  kings.  Poor  and  feeble  opposition,  which  has  not 
advanced  the  cause  of  humanity  one  jot ! Lisping  chil- 
dren recite  these  veiled  theories  without  understanding 
them,  and  go  to  sleep  while  they  recite.  Rabelais  also 
was  a politician  in  your  sense  of  the  word ; but  with  such 
political  views  people  laugh,  and  correct  nothing.  Have 
you  seen  one  single  abuse  redressed  for  the  last  three  hun- 
dred years  ? Enough  of  poets  and  theorists  ! Let  us  have 
deeds,  not  words.  We  have  given  France  up  to  the  care 
of  physicians  for  three  hundred  years,  and  it  is  time  now 
that  surgery  should  enter  in  its  turn,  scalpel  and  saw  in 
hand.  Society  is  gangrened ; let  us  stop  the  gangrene 
with  the  steel.  He  may  wait  who  rises  from  his  table 
to  recline  upon  a couch  of  roses,  from  which  the  ruffled 
leaves  are  blown  by  the  breath  of  his  slaves ; for  the  sat- 
isfied stomach  exhales  grateful  vapors  which  mount  into 
the  brain,  and  recreate  and  vivify  it.  But  hunger,  misery, 
despair,  are  not  satiated  nor  consoled  with  verses,  with 
sentences  and  fables.  They  cry  out  loudly  in  their  suffer- 
ings ; deaf  indeed  must  he  be  who  does  not  hear  their 
lamentations,  — accursed  he  who  does  not  reply  to  them  I 


THE  REPORT. 


37 


A revolt,  even  should  it  be  crushed,  will  enlighten  the 
minds  more  than  a thousand  years  of  precepts,  more  than 
three  centuries  of  examples.  It  will  enlighten  the  kings, 
if  it  do  not  overthrow  them.  That  is  much  ; that  is 
enough  ! ” 

A murmur  of  admiration  rose  from  several  lips. 

“ Where  are  our  enemies  ] ” pursued  Marat.  “ Above 
us  ! above  us  ! They  guard  the  doors  of  the  palaces,  they 
surround  the  steps  of  the  throne.  Upon  this  throne  is 
their  palladium,  which  they  guard  more  vigilantly  and 
apprehensively  than  the  Trojans  guarded  theirs.  This 
palladium,  which  makes  them  all-powerful,  rich,  and  in- 
solent, is  royalty.  This  royalty  cannot  be  reached  save 
by  passing  over  the  bodies  of  those  who  guard  it,  as  one 
can  reach  the  general  only  by  overthrowing  the  battalions 
which  protect  him.  Well,  history  tells  us  of  many  bat- 
talions which  have  been  captured,  many  generals  who 
have  been  overthrown,  from  Darius  down  to  King  John, 
from  Regulus  down  to  Duguesclin. 

* 1 If  we  overthrow  the  guard,  we  reach  the  idol.  Let  us 
begin  by  striking  down  the  sentinels,  — we  can  afterward 
strike  down  the  chief.  Let  the  attack  be  first  on  the 
courtiers,  the  nobility,  the  aristocracy ; afterward  upon  the 
kings.  Count  the  privileged  heads  ; there  are  scarcely  two 
hundred  thousand.  Walk  through  this  beautiful  garden 
called  France,  with  a sharp  switch  in  your  hand,  and  cut 
down  these  two  hundred  thousand  heads  as  Tarquin  did 
the  poppies  of  Latium,  and  all  will  be  done.  There  will 
then  be  only  two  powers  opposed  to  each  other,  — the  peo- 
ple and  the  kingship.  Then  let  this  kingship,  this  symbol, 
try  to  struggle  with  the  people,  this  giant,  — and  you  will 
see  ! When  dwarfs  wish  to  overthrow  a colossus,  they 
begin  with  the  pedestal.  When  the  woodmen  wish  to 
cut  down  the  oak,  they  attack  it  at  the  foot.  Woodmen ! 


38 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


woodmen  ! seize  the  hatchet,  attack  the  oak  at  its  roots, 
and  the  ancient  tree  with  its  proud  branches  will  soon  bite 
the  dust ! ” 

“ And  will  crush  you  like  pygmies  in  its  fall,  unhappy 
schemers  that  you  are ! ” exclaimed  Balsamo,  in  a voice  of 
thunder.  “ Ah ! you  rail  against  the  poets,  and  you 
speak  in  metaphors  even  more  poetical  and  more  imagi- 
native than  theirs  ! Brother  I brother  ! ” continued  he, 
addressing  Marat,  “ I tell  you,  you  have  quoted  these 
sentences  from  some  romance  which  you  are  composing  in 
your  garret ! ” 

Marat  reddened. 

“ Do  you  know  what  a revolution  is  1 ” continued  Bal- 
samo ; “ I have  seen  two  hundred,  and  can  tell  you.  I 
have  seen  that  of  ancient  Egypt,  that  of  Assyria,  those  of 
Rome  and  Greece,  and  that  of  the  Netherlands.  I have 
seen  those  of  the  Middle  Ages,  when  the  nations  rushed 
one  against  another, — East  against  West,  West  against 
East,  — and  murdered  without  knowing  why.  From  the 
Shepherd  Kings  to  our  own  time  there  have  been  perhaps 
a hundred  revolutions,  and  yet  now  you  complain  of  being 
slaves.  Revolutions,  then,  have  done  no  good.  And 
why  'l  Because  those  who  caused  the  revolutions  were  all 
struck  with  the  same  vertigo,  — they  were  too  hasty. 
Does  God,  who  presides  over  the  revolutions  of  the  world, 
as  genius  presides  over  the  revolutions  of  men,  — does  he 
hasten  h 

“ 6 Cut  down  the  oak  ! * you  cry ; and  you  do  not  calcu- 
late that  the  oak,  which  needs  but  a second  to  fall,  covers 
as  much  ground  when  it  falls  as  a horse  at  a gallop  would 
cross  in  thirty  seconds.  Now,  those  who  throw  down  the 
oak,  not  having  time  to  avoid  the  unforeseen  fall,  will  be 
lost,  crushed,  killed,  beneath  its  immense  trunk.  That  is 
what  you  want,  is  it  not1?  You  will  never  get  that  from 


THE  REPORT. 


39 


me.  Like  God,  I have  lived  through  twenty,  thirty, 
forty,  generations  of  human  life.  Like  God,  I am  eternal. 
Like  God,  I shall  he  patient.  I carry  my  fate,  yours,  the 
world’s,  in  the  hollow  of  this  hand.  No  one  can  make  me 
open  this  hand,  full  of  overwhelming  truth,  unless  I wish 
to  open  it.  There  is  thunder  in  it,  I know.  Well!  the 
thunderbolt  shall  remain  in  it,  as  if  hidden  in  the  murky 
cloud.  Brothers  ! brothers  ! descend  from  these  sublime 
heights,  and  let  us  once  more  walk  upou  the  earth. 

“ I tell  you  plainly,  and  with  sincere  conviction,  that 
the  time  has  not  yet  come.  The  king  who  is  on  the 
throne  is  the  last  reflection  of  the  great  monarch  whom  the 
people  still  venerate  ; and  in  this  fading  monarchy  there 
is  yet  something  dazzling  enough  to  outweigh  the  light- 
ning shafts  of  your  petty  anger.  This  man  was  born  a 
king,  and  will  die  a king.  His  race  is  insolent,  but  pure. 
You  can  read  his  origin  on  his  brow,  in  his  gestures,  in  his 
voice, — he  will  always  be  king.  Overthrow  him,  and 
that  will  happen  to  him  which  happened  to  Charles  the 
First;  his  executioners  will  kneel  before  him,  and  the 
courtiers  who  accompany  him  in  his  misfortune  will,  like 
Lord  Capel,  kiss  the  axe  which  has  struck  off  the  head  of 
their  master. 

“ Now,  brothers,  you  all  know  that  England  was  too 
hasty.  King  Charles  the  First  died  upon  the  scaffold,  in- 
deed ; but  King  Charles  the  Second,  his  son,  died  upon 
the  throne. 

“ Wait,  wait,  brothers  ! for  the  time  will  soon  be  pro- 
pitious. You  wish  to  destroy  the  lilies.  That  is  our 
motto,  — ‘ Lilia  pedibus  destrue.’  But  not  a single  root 
must  leave  to  the  flower  of  Saint  Louis  the  hope  of  bloom- 
ing again.  You  wish  to  destroy  royalty  ? To  destroy 
royalty  forever,  you  must  weaken  her  prestige  as  well  as 
her  essence.  You  wish  to  destroy  royalty  ? Wait  till 


40 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


royalty  is  no  longer  a sacred  office,  but  merely  a trade,  — 
till  it  is  practised  in  a shop,  not  in  a temple.  Now,  what 
is  most  sacred  in  royalty  — namely,  the  legitimate  trans- 
mission of  the  throne,  authorized  for  centuries  by  God  and 
the  people  — is  about  to  be  lost  forever.  Listen,  listen  ! 
This  invincible,  this  impervious  barrier  between  us  noth- 
ings and  these  quasi  divine  creatures;  this  limit  which 
the  people  have  never  dared  to  cross,  and  which  is  called 
legitimacy;  this  word,  brilliant  as  a lighted  watch- 
tower,  and  which  until  now  has  saved  the  royal  family 
from  shipwreck,  — this  word  will  be  extinguished  by  the 
breath  of  a mysterious  fatality  ! 

“The  dauphiness,  called  to  France  to  perpetuate  the 
race  of  kings  by  the  admixture  of  imperial  blood,  — the 
dauphiness,  married  now  for  a year  to  the  heir  of  the  French 
crown,  — approach,  brothers,  for  I fear  to  let  the  sound  of 
my  words  pass  beyond  your  circle  — ” 

“ Well?  ” asked  the  six  chiefs,  with  anxiety. 

“ Well,  brothers,  the  marriage  of  the  dauphiness  is  still 
not  fully  consummated.” 

A sinister  murmur,  which  would  have  frozen  the  mon- 
archs  of  the  world  with  terror  had  they  heard  it,  — such 
deep  hatred,  such  revengeful  joy  did  it  breathe,  — escaped 
like  a deadly  vapor  from  the  little  circle  of  six  heads, 
which  almost  touched  each  other,  Balsamo’s  being  bent 
over  them  from  his  rostrum. 

“ In  this  condition  of  affairs,”  continued  Balsamo,  “ two 
possibilities  are  presented,  equally  profitable  to  our  cause. 

“ The  first  possibility  is  that  the  dauphiness  will  con- 
tinue childless,  that  then  the  race  will  be  extinguished, 
and  the  future  will  have  for  our  friends  neither  wars,  difffi 
culties,  nor  troubles.  That  will  happen  to  this  family, 
foredoomed  to  perish,  which  has  always  happened  in 
France  when  three  brothers  have  succeeded  to  the  throne  ; 


THE  REPORT. 


41 


which  happened  to  the  sons  of  Philippe  le  Bel,  — Louis  le 
Hutin,  Philippe  le  Long,  and  Charles  IV.,  — who  all 
reigned  and  died  leaving  no  issue ; which  happened  to 
the  three  sons  of  Henri  II.,  — Francois  II.,  Charles  IX.f 
and  Henri  III.,  — who  all  reigned,  and  died  without  is- 
sue. Like  these,  Monseigneur  le  Dauphin,  Monseigneur 
le  Comte  de  Provence,  and  Monseigneur  le  Comte  d’Artois 
will  all  reign,  and  will  die  leaving  no  children,  as  died 
these  others,  — it  is  the  law  of  destiny.  Then,  as  after 
Charles  IV.,  the  last  king  of  the  house  of  Capet,  came 
Philippe  VI.  de  Valois,  of  a family  collateral  to  that  of  the 
kings  preceding ; as,  after  Henri  III.,  the  last  king  of  the 
house  of  Valois,  came  Henri  IV.  de  Bourbon,  of  a family 
collateral  to  that  which  preceded,  — after  the  Comte 
d’ Artois,  whose  name  is  written  in  the  book  of  fate  as 
that  of  the  last  king  of  the  elder  branch,  will  come  per- 
haps some  Cromwell  or  some  William  of  Orange,  — some 
stranger  to  the  race  or  to  the  natural  order  of  succession. 

“ This  is  what  the  first  possibility  offers  us.  The  second 
is  that  the  dauphiness  will  not  continue  childless.  And 
here  is  the  trap  into  which  our  enemies  will  throw  them- 
selves, while  expecting  us  to  be  caught  in  it.  Oh  ! if  the 
dauphiness  does  not  continue  childless,  if  she  becomes  a 
mother,  then,  while  all  the  court  will  rejoice,  and  will  be- 
lieve that  royalty  is  more  firmly  established  in  France,  we 
ourselves  shall  rejoice  also ; for  we  shall  possess  a secret  so 
terrible  that  no  prestige,  no  power,  no  efforts  can  make 
head  against  the  crimes  which  that  secret  will  involve,  and 
the  unhappiness  which  that  maternity  will  bring  upon  the 
future  queen.  The  heir  she  will  give  to  the  throne  we 
shall  easily  show  to  be  illegitimate,  for  we  shall  easily 
prove  that  maternity  to  be  adulterous.  So  that,  in  com- 
parison with  that  factitious  good  fortune  which  Heaven 
will  seem  to  have  granted  them,  barrenness  would  have 


42 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


been  a blessing  from  on  high.  This  is  why  I refrain,  gen- 
tlemen ; this  is  why  I wait,  brothers ; in  short,  this  is 
why  I consider  it  useless  to  unchain  to-day  the  passions  of 
the  people,  which  I shall  employ  effectively  when  the  fit 
time  shall  arrive. 

“ Now,  gentlemen,  you  know  this  year’s  work ; you  see 
the  progress  of  our  mines.  Be  assured  that  we  shall  suc- 
ceed only  by  the  genius  and  the  courage  of  some,  who  will 
serve  as  the  eyes  and  the  brain ; by  the  perseverance  and 
labor  of  others,  who  will  represent  the  arms ; by  the  faith 
and  the  devotion  of  others  again,  who  will  be  the  heart. 
Above  all,  remember  the  necessity  of  a blind  submission, 
which  ordains  that  even  your  chief  must  sacrifice  himself 
to  the  statutes  of  the  order,  whenever  those  statutes  re- 
quire it. 

“ After  this,  gentlemen  and  beloved  brothers,  I would 
dissolve  the  meeting,  if  there  were  not  still  a good  act  to 
perform,  an  evil  to  point  out.  The  great  writer  who  came 
among  us  this  evening,  and  who  would  have  been  one  of 
us  but  for  the  stormy  zeal  of  one  of  our  brothers  who 
alarmed  his  timid  soul,  — this  great  author  proved  himself 
in  the  right  before  our  assembly ; and  I deplore  it  as  a 
misfortune  that  a stranger  should  be  victorious  in  the 
presence  of  a majority  of  brothers  who  are  imperfectly 
acquainted  with  our  rules,  and  utterly  ignorant  of  our 
aim. 

“ Rousseau,  triumphing  over  the  truths  of  our  associa- 
tion with  the  sophisms  of  his  books,  represents  a funda- 
mental vice  which  I would  extirpate  by  steel  and  fire,  if 
I had  not  the  hope  of  curing  it  by  persuasion.  The  self- 
love  of  one  of  our  brothers  has  exhibited  itself  with  mis- 
chievous results.  He  has  led  us  to  defeat  in  the  discussion. 
No  such  manifestation,  I trust,  will  again  be  made;  and  if 
it  is,  I shall  have  recourse  to  the  laws  of  discipline. 


THE  REPORT. 


43 


“ In  the  mean  time,  gentlemen,  propagate  the  faith  by 
gentleness  and  persuasion.  Insinuate  it,  do  not  impose 
it ; do  not  force  it  into  rebellious  minds  with  wedges  and 
blows,  as  the  inquisitors  tortured  their  victims.  Kemem- 
ber  that  we  cannot  he  great  until  after  we  have  been 
acknowledged  good  ; and  that  we  cannot  be  acknowledged 
good  but  by  appearing  better  than  those  who  surround  us. 
Eemember,  too,  that  among  us  the  great,  the  good,  the 
best,  are  nothing  without  science,  art,  and  faith  ; nothing, 
in  short,  compared  with  those  whom  God  has  marked 
with  a peculiar  stamp,  to  give  them  authority  to  govern 
men  and  rule  empires. 

“ Gentlemen,  the  meeting  is  dissolved.” 

After  pronouncing  these  words,  Balsamo  put  on  his  hat 
and  folded  himself  in  his  cloak. 

Each  of  the  initiated  left  in  his  turn,  alone  and  silently, 
in  order  not  to  awaken  suspicion. 


44 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTEK  V. 

THE  BODY  AND  THE  SOUL. 

The  last  who  remained  beside  the  master  was  Marat,  the 
surgeon.  He  was  very  pale,  and  humbly  approached  the 
terrible  orator  of  unlimited  power. 

" Master,”  said  he,  “ have  I indeed  committed  a fault  1 ” 
“ A great  one,  Monsieur,”  said  Balsamo  : “ and,  what  is 
worse,  you  do  not  believe  that  you  have  committed  one.” 
“ Well,  yes,  I confess  that  not  only  do  I not  believe 
that  I committed  a fault,  but  I think  that  I spoke  as  I 
ought  to  speak.” 

“ Pride,  pride  ! ” muttered  Balsamo  ; “ pride,  — de- 
structive demon  ! Men  combat  the  fever  in  the  blood  of 
the  patient,  they  dispel  the  plague  from  the  water  and 
the  air ; but  they  let  pride  strike  such  deep  roots  in  their 
hearts  that  they  cannot  exterminate  it.” 

“ Oh,  Master,”  said  Marat,  “ you  have  a very  despi- 
cable opinion  of  me  ! Am  I indeed  so  worthless  that  I 
cannot  count  for  anything  among  my  fellows  ? Have  I 
gathered  the  fruits  of  my  labor  so  ill  that  I cannot  utter  a 
word  without  being  taxed  with  ignorance  ? Am  I such  a 
lukewarm  member  that  my  earnestness  is  suspected  ? If 
I have  no  other  good  quality,  I have  at  least  that  of  living 
in  devotion  to  the  holy  cause  of  the  people.” 

“ Monsieur,”  replied  Balsamo,  “ it  is  because  the  prin- 
ciple of  good  yet  struggles  in  you  against  the  principle  of 
evil,  which  appears  to  me  likely  to  carry  you  away  one 
day,  that  I will  try  to  correct  these  defects  in  you.  If  I 


THE  BODY  AND  THE  SOUL. 


45 


can  succeed  — if  pride  has  not  yet  subdued  every  other 
sentiment  in  your  breast  — I shall  succeed  in  one 
hour.” 

“ In  one  hour?  ” said  Marat. 

“ Yes ; will  you  grant  me  that  time  ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Where  shall  I see  you  ? ” 

“ Master,  it  is  my  place  to  seek  you  in  any  place  you 
may  choose  to  point  out  to  your  servant.” 

“ Well,”  said  Balsamo,  “ I will  come  to  your  house.” 

“ Mark  the  promise  you  are  making,  Master.  I live  in 
an  attic  in  the  Rue  des  Cordeliers.  An  attic,  remember  ! ” 
said  Marat,  with  an  affectation  of  proud  simplicity,  with  a 
boasting  display  of  poverty,  which  did  not  escape  Balsamo, 
“ while  you  — ” 

“ Well,  while  I ? ” 

“ While  you,  it  is  said,  inhabit  a palace.” 

Balsamo  shrugged  his  shoulders,  like  a giant  who  looks 
down  with  contempt  on  the  anger  of  a dwarf.  “ Well, 
even  so,  Monsieur,”  he  replied ; “ I will  come  to  see  you 
in  your  garret.” 

“ And  when,  Monsieur  ? ” 

“ To-morrow.” 

“ At  what  time  ? ” 
u In  the  morning.” 

“ At  daybreak  I go  to  my  lecture-room,  and  from  thence 
to  the  hospital.” 

“ That  is  precisely  what  I want.  I would  have  asked 
you  to  take  me  with  you,  had  you  not  proposed  it.” 

“ But  early,  remember,”  said  Marat ; “ I sleep  little.” 
“And  I do  not  sleep  at  all,”  replied  Balsamo.  “At 
daybreak,  then.” 

“ I shall  expect  you.” 

Thereupon  they  separated,  for  they  had  reached  the 


46 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


door  opening  on  the  street,  now  as  dark  and  solitary  as  it 
had  been  noisy  and  populous  when  they  entered.  Bal- 
samo  turned  to  the  left,  and  rapidly  disappeared.  Marat 
followed  his  example,  striding  toward  the  right  with  his 
long,  meagre  limbs. 

Balsamo  was  punctual.  The  next  morning  at  six  o’clock 
he  knocked  at  the  door  of  a long  corridor,  which,  with  the 
six  rooms  opening  into  it,  formed  the  upper  story  of  an  old 
house  in  the  Rue  des  Cordeliers. 

It  was  evident  that  Marat  had  made  great  preparations 
to  receive  his  illustrious  guest.  The  small  bed  of  walnut- 
tree,  and  the  wooden  chest  of  drawers  beside  it,  shone 
bright  beneath  the  sturdy  arm  of  the  charwoman,  who  was 
busily  engaged  scrubbing  the  decayed  furniture. 

Marat  himself  lent  a helping  hand  to  the  old  woman, 
and  was  refreshing  the  withered  flowers  which  were  ar- 
ranged in  a blue  delft  pot,  and  which  formed  the  principal 
ornament  of  the  attic.  He  still  held  a dusting-cloth  under 
his  arm,  which  showed  that  he  had  not  touched  the  flow- 
ers until  he  had  given  a rub  to  the  furniture. 

As  the  key  was  in  the  door,  and  as  Balsamo  had  entered 
without  knocking,  he  interrupted  Marat  in  his  occupation. 
Marat,  at  the  sight  of  the  master,  blushed  much  more 
deeply  than  was  becoming  in  a true  stoic.  “You  see, 
Master,”  said  he,  stealthily  throwing  the  tell-tale  cloth 
behind  a curtain,  “I  am  a domestic  man,  and  assist  this 
good  woman.  It  is  from  preference  that  I choose  this 
task,  which  is,  perhaps,  not  quite  plebeian,  but  it  is  still 
less  aristocratic.” 

“ It  is  that  of  a poor  young  man  who  loves  cleanliness,” 
said  Balsamo,  coldly,  “nothing  more.  Are  you  ready, 
Monsieur?  You  know  my  moments  are  precious.” 

“ I have  only  to  slip  on  my  coat,  Monsieur.  Dame 
Grivette,  my  coat ! She  is  my  portress,  Monsieur,  — my 


THE  BODY  AND  THE  SOUL.  47 

footman,  my  cook,  my  housekeeper,  and  she  costs  me  one 
crown  a month.” 

“ Economy  is  praiseworthy,”  said  Balsamo  ; “ it  is  the 
wealth  of  the  poor,  and  the  wisdom  of  the  rich.” 

“ My  hat  and  cane,”  said  Marat. 

Stretch  out  your  hand,”  said  Balsamo  ; “ there  is  your 
hat,  and  no  doubt  this  cane  which  is  near  your  hat  is 
yours.” 

“ Oh ! I beg  your  pardon,  Monsieur ; I am  quite 
confused.” 

“ Are  you  ready  ] ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur.  My  watch,  Dame  Grivette  ! ” 

Dame  Grivette  hustled  about  the  room  as  if  in  search  of 
something,  hut  did  not  reply. 

“ You  have  no  occasion  for  a watch,  Monsieur,  to  go  to 
the  lecture-room  and  the  hospital ; it  will  perhaps  not  he 
easily  found,  and  that  would  cause  some  delay.” 

“ But  Monsieur,  I attach  great  value  to  my  watch, 
which  is  an  excellent  one,  and  which  I bought  with  my 
savings.” 

“ In  your  absence,  Dame  Grivette  will  look  for  it,” 
replied  Balsamo,  with  a smile ; “ and  if  she  searches  care- 
fully, it  will  be  found  when  you  return.” 

“ Oh,  certainly ! ” said  Dame  Grivette,  “ it  will  be  found, 
unless  Monsieur  has  left  it  somewhere  else.  Nothing  is 
lost  here.” 

“ You  see,”  said  Balsamo.  “ Come,  Monsieur,  come  ! ” 

Marat  did  not  venture  to  persist,  and  followed  Balsamo, 
grumbling.  When  they  reached  the  door,  Balsamo  said, 
“ Where  shall  we  go  first  ? ” 

“ To  the  lecture-room,  if  you  please,  Master ; I have 
marked  a subject  which  must  have  died  last  night  of  acute 
meningitis.  I want  to  make  some  observations  on  his  brain, 
and  I do  not  wish  my  colleagues  to  take  it  from  me.” 


48 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Then  let  us  go  to  the  lecture-room,  Monsieur 
Marat.” 

“ Moreover,  it  is  only  a few  yards  from  here ; the  lec- 
ture-room is  close  to  the  hospital,  and  we  shall  need  only 
to  go  in  and  come  out  again,  — you  might  even  wait  for 
me  at  the  door.” 

“ On  the  contrary,  I wish  to  accompany  you  inside ; you 
will  give  me  your  opinion  on  this  subject.” 

“ When  he  was  alive,  Monsieur  ? ” 

“ No,  since  he  has  become  a corpse.” 

“ Take  care,”  said  Marat,  smiling ; “ I may  gain  a point 
over  you,  for  I am  well  acquainted  with  this  part  of  my 
profession,  and  am  said  to  be  a skilful  anatomist.” 

“ Pride  ! pride  ! ever  pride  ! ” murmured  Balsamo. 

“ What  do  you  say  'i  ” asked  Marat. 

“ I say  that  we  shall  see,  Monsieur,”  replied  Balsamo. 
“ Let  us  enter.” 

Marat  preceded  Balsamo  in  the  narrow  alley  leading  to 
the  lecture-room,  which  was  situated  at  the  extremity  of 
the  Rue  Hautefeuille.  Balsamo  followed  him  unhesitat- 
ingly until  they  reached  a long  narrow  room,  where  two 
corpses,  a male  and  a female,  lay  stretched  upon  a marble 
table. 

The  woman  had  died  young ; the  man  was  old  and  bald. 
A soiled  sheet  was  thrown  over  their  bodies,  leaving  their 
faces  half-uncovered.  They  were  lying  side  by  side  upon 
this  cold  bed,  — they  who  had  perhaps  never  met  before 
in  the  world,  and  whose  souls,  then  voyaging  in  eternity, 
must,  could  they  have  looked  down  on  earth,  have  been 
struck  with  astonishment  at  the  proximity  of  their  mortal 
remains. 

Marat  with  a single  movement  raised  and  threw  aside 
the  coarse  linen  which  covered  the  two  bodies,  whom 
death  had  thus  made  equal  before  the  anatomist’s  scalpel. 


THE  BODY  AND  THE  SOUL. 


49 


“ Is  not  the  sight  of  the  dead  repugnant  to  your  feel- 
ings ] ” asked  Marat,  in  his  usual  boasting  manner. 

“ It  makes  me  sad,”  replied  Balsamo. 

“ Want  of  custom,”  said  Marat.  “ I,  who  see  this  sight 
daily,  feel  neither  sadness  nor  disgust.  We  practitioners 
live  with  the  dead,  and  do  not  interrupt  any  of  the  func- 
tions of  our  existence  on  their  account.” 

“ It  is  a sad  privilege  of  your  profession,  Monsieur.” 

“ Besides,”  added  Marat,  “ why  should  I be  sad,  or  feel 
disgust  ] In  the  first  case,  reflection  forbids  it ; in  the 
second,  custom.” 

“ Explain  your  ideas,”  said  Balsamo;  “I  do  not  under- 
stand you  clearly.  Reflection  first.” 

“ Well,  why  should  I be  afraid  ] Why  should  I fear  an 
inert  mass,  — a statue  of  flesh  instead  of  stone,  marble,  or 
granite  ] ” 

“ In  short,  you  think  there  is  nothing  in  a corpse  1 ” 

“ Nothing,  — absolutely  nothing.” 

“ Do  you  believe  that  ] ” 

“ I am  sure  of  it.” 

“ But  in  the  living  body.” 

“ There  is  motion,”  said  Marat,  proudly. 

“ And  the  soul, — you  do  not  speak  of  it,  Monsieur.” 

“ I have  never  found  it  in  the  bodies  which  I have 
dissected.” 

“ Because  you  have  dissected  only  corpses.” 

“ Oh,  no,  Monsieur ! I have  frequently  operated  upon 
living  bodies.” 

“ And  you  have  found  nothing  more  in  them  than  in 
the  corpses'?” 

“Yes,  I have  found  pain.  Do  you  call  pain  the 
soul  ] ” 

“ Then  you  do  not  believe  in  it  1 ” 

“ In  what?” 

VOL.  III.  — 4 


50 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“In  the  soul.” 

“ I believe  in  it,  because  I am  at  liberty  to  call  it  motion, 
if  I wish.” 

“That  is  well.  You  believe  in  the  soul;  that  is  all  I 
asked.  I am  glad  you  believe  in  it.” 

“ One  moment,  Master.  Let  us  understand  each  other, 
and  above  all,  let  us  not  exaggerate,”  said  Marat,  with  his 
serpent  smile.  “We  practitioners  are  rather  disposed  to 
materialism.” 

“ These  bodies  are  very  cold,”  said  Balsamo,  dreamily^ 
“and  this  woman  was  very  beautiful.” 

“ Why,  yes.” 

“ A lovely  soul  would  have  been  suitable  in  this  lovely 
body.” 

“ Ah ! there  was  the  mistake  of  him  who  created  her. 
A beautiful  scabbard,  but  a vile  sword.  This  corpse, 
Master,  is  that  of  a wretched  woman  who  had  just  left 
Saint  Lazare  when  she  died  of  cerebral  inflammation  in 
the  Hotel  Dieu.  Her  history  is  long,  and  tolerably  scan- 
dalous. If  you  call  the  motive  power  which  impelled  this 
creature  1 soul/  you  wrong  our  souls,  which  must  be  of 
the  same  essence,  since  they  are  derived  from  the  same 
source.” 

“ Her  soul  should  have  been  cured,”  said  Balsamo ; “ it 
was  lost  for  want  of  the  only  physician  who  is  indispen- 
sable, — a physician  of  the  soul.” 

“ Alas,  Master,  that  is  another  of  your  theories  ! There 
are  only  physicians  for  the  body,”  replied  Marat,  with  a 
bitter  smile.  “ Now  you  have  a word  on  your  lips  which 
Moliere  has  often  employed  in  his  comedies;  and  it  is  this 
word  which  makes  you  smile.” 

“ No,”  said  Balsamo,  “you  mistake;  you  cannot  know 
why  I smile.  What  we  concluded  just  now  was  that  these 
corpses  are  void,  was  it  not  1 ” 


THE  BODY  AND  THE  SOUL. 


51 


“ And  insensible,”  added  Marat,  raising  the  young 
woman’s  head,  and  letting  it  fall  noisily  upon  the  marble, 
while  the  body  neither  moved  nor  shuddered. 

“ Very  well,”  said  Balsamo  ; “ let  us  now  go  to  the 
hospital.” 

“ Wait  one  moment,  Master,  I entreat  you,  until  I have 
separated  from  the  trunk  this  head,  which  I am  most  anx- 
ious to  have,  as  it  was  the  seat  of  a very  strange  disease. 
Will  you  allow  me  1 ” 

“ Do  you  ask  ? ” said  Balsamo. 

Marat  opened  his  case,  took  from  it  a bistoury,  and 
picked  up  in  a corner  a large  wooden  mallet  stained  with 
blood.  Then  with  a practised  hand  he  made  a circular 
incision,  which  separated  all  the  flesh  and  the  muscles  of 
the  neck ; and  having  thus  reached  the  bone,  he  slipped 
his  bistoury  between  two  joints  of  the  vertebral  column, 
and  struck  a sharp  blow  upon  it  with  the  mallet. 

The  head  rolled  upon  the  table,  and  from  the  table 
upon  the  floor.  Marat  was  obliged  to  seize  it  with  his 
damp  hands.  Balsamo  turned  away,  not  to  give  too  much 
joy  to  the  triumphant  operator. 

“ One  day,”  said  Marat,  who  thought  he  had  hit  the 
master  in  a weak  point,  — “ one  day  some  philanthropist 
will  occupy  himself  with  the  details  of  death  as  others  do 
with  those  of  life,  and  will  invent  a machine  which  shall 
sever  a head  at  a single  blow,  and  cause  instantaneous  anni- 
hilation, which  no  other  instrument  of  death  does.  The 
wheel,  quartering,  and  hanging,  are  punishments  suitable 
for  savages,  but  not  for  civilized  people.  An  enlightened 
nation  like  France  should  punish,  but  not  revenge.  Those 
who  condemn  to  the  wheel,  who  hang  or  quarter,  revenge 
themselves  upon  the  criminal  by  inflicting  pain  before 
punishing  him  by  death ; and  that,  in  my  opinion,  is  too 
much  by  half.” 


52 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ And  in  mine  also,  Monsieur.  But  what  kind  of  an 
instrument  do  you  mean  1 ” 

“ I can  fancy  a machine  cold  and  impassive  as  the  law 
itself.  The  man  who  is  charged  with  fulfilling  the  last 
office  is  moved  at  the  sight  of  his  fellow-man,  and  some- 
times strikes  badly,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Duke  of  Mon- 
mouth and  that  of  Chalais.  This  could  not  happen  with 
a machine  having,  for  instance,  two  arms  of  oak  wielding 
a cutlass.” 

“ And  do  you  believe,  Monsieur,  that  because  the  knife 
would  pass  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning  between  the 
base  of  the  occiput  and  the  trapezoid  muscles,  death  would 
be  instantaneous  and  the  pain  momentary  ? 99 

“ Certainly  ; death  would  be  instantaneous,  for  the  iron 
would  sever  at  a blow  the  nerves  which  cause  motion. 
The  pain  would  be  momentary,  for  the  blade  would  sepa- 
rate the  brain,  which  is  the  seat  of  feeling,  from  the  heart, 
which  is  the  centre  of  life.” 

“ Monsieur,”  said  Balsamo,  " the  punishment  of  decapi- 
tation exists  in  Germany.” 

“ Yes,  but  by  the  sword  ; and,  as  I said  before,  a man’s 
hand  may  tremble.” 

“ Such  a machine  exists  in  Italy  ; an  arm  of  oak  wields 
it.  It  is  called  the  mannaja99 

“ Well?” 

“ Well,  Monsieur,  I have  seen  criminals  decapitated  by 
the  executioner  raise  their  headless  bodies  from  the  bench 
on  which  they  were  seated,  and  stagger  off,  to  fall  ten 
steps  from  there.  I have  picked  up  heads  which  had 
rolled  to  the  foot  of  the  mannaja , — as  that  head  you  are 
holding  by  the  hair  has  just  rolled  from  the  marble  table, 
— and  on  pronouncing  in  their  ears  the  name  by  which 
those  persons  had  been  called,  I have  seen  the  eyes  open 
again  and  turn  in  their  orbits,  seeking  to  discover  who 


THE  BODY  AND  THE  SOUL. 


53 


from  the  earth  had  called  to  them  in  that  passage  from 
time  to  eternity.” 

“ A nervous  movement,  — nothing  else.” 

“ Are  the  nerves  not  the  organs  of  sensibility  1 ” 

“ What  do  you  conclude  from  that,  Monsieur  1 ” 

“ I conclude  that  it  would  be  better,  instead  of  invent- 
ing a machine  which  kills  in  order  to  punish,  that  man 
should  seek  , a means  of  punishing  without  killing.  The 
society  which  will  invent  this  means  will  assuredly  be  the 
best  and  the  most  enlightened  of  societies.” 

“ Utopia  again,  — always  Utopia  ! ” said  Marat. 

“ Perhaps  you  are  right,”  said  Balsamo ; “ time  will  show. 
But  did  you  not  speak  of  the  hospital  1 Let  us  go  ! ” 

“ Come,  then,”  said  Marat ; and  he  tied  the  woman’s 
head  in  his  pocket-handkerchief,  carefully  knotting  the 
four  corners.  “ Now  I am  sure,  at  least,”  said  he,  as  he 
left  the  hall,  “ that  my  comrades  will  have  only  my 
leavings.” 

They  took  the  way  to  the  Hotel  Dieu,  — the  dreamer 
and  the  practitioner  side  by  side. 

“ You  have  cut  off  this  head  very  coolly  and  very  skil- 
fully, Monsieur,”  said  Balsamo.  “ Do  you  feel  less  emo- 
tion when  you  operate  upon  the  living  than  the  dead  1 
Does  the  sight  of  suffering  affect  you  more  than  that  of 
immobility  1 Have  you  more  pity  for  living  bodies  than 
for  corpses  h ” 

“ No ; that  would  be  as  great  a fault  as  for  the  execu- 
tioner to  be  moved.  You  may  kill  a man  by  cutting  his 
thigh  unskilfully,  just  as  well  as  by  severing  the  head 
from  the  body.  A good  surgeon  operates  with  his  hand, 
not  with  his  heart ; though  he  knows  well  at  the  same 
time,  in  his  heart,  that  for  one  moment  of  suffering  he 
gives  years  of  life  and  health.  That  is  the  fair  side  of  our 
profession,  Master.” 


54 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“Yes,  Monsieur;  but  in  the  living  bodies  you  meet 
with  the  soul,  I hope/’ 

“ Yes,  if  you  will  agree  with  me  that  the  soul  is  motion, 
or  sensibility.  Yes,  certainly,  I meet  with  it ; and  it  is 
very  troublesome  too,  for  it  kills  far  more  patients  than 
any  scalpel.” 

They  had  by  this  time  arrived  at  the  threshold  of  the 
Hotel  Dieu,  and  now  entered  the  hospital.  Guided  by 
Marat,  who  still  carried  his  funereal  burden,  Balsamo 
penetrated  to  the  hall  where  the  operations  were  per- 
formed, in  which  the  head-surgeon  and  the  students  in 
surgery  were  assembled.  The  attendant  had  just  brought 
in  a young  man  who  had  been  run  over  the  preceding 
week  by  a heavy  carriage,  the  wheel  of  which  had  crushed 
his  foot.  A hasty  operation  performed  upon  the  limb 
when  benumbed  by  pain  had  not  been  sufficient ; the 
inflammation  had  rapidly  extended,  and  the  amputation 
of  the  leg  had  now  become  an  urgent  necessity. 

The  unfortunate  man,  stretched  upon  his  bed  of  an- 
guish, looked,  with  a horror  which  would  have  melted 
tigers,  at  the  band  of  eager  students  who  were  watching 
for  the  moment  of  his  martyrdom,  perhaps  of  his  death, 
that  they  might  study  the  science  of  life,  — that  marvel- 
lous phenomenon  behind  which  lies  the  gloomy  phenome- 
non of  death. 

He  seemed  to  implore  a pitying  look,  a smile,  or  a 
word  of  encouragement  from  each  of  the  students  and 
attendants ; but  the  beatings  of  his  heart  were  responded 
to  only  by  indifference,  his  beseeching  looks  encountered 
only  steel.  A remnant  of  courage  and  of  pride  kept 
him  silent.  He  reserved  all  his  strength  for  the  cries 
which  pain  would  soon  wring  from  him.  But  when  he 
felt  the  heavy  hand  of  the  attendant  upon  his  shoulder, 
when  the  arms  of  the  assistants  twined  around  him  like 


THE  BODY  AND  THE  SOUL. 


55 


the  serpents  of  Laocoon,  when  he  heard  the  operators 
voice  cry,  “ Courage  ! ” the  unfortunate  man  ventured  to 
break  the  silence,  and  asked  in  a plaintive  voice,  “ Shall 
I suffer  much?” 

“ Oh,  no  ! make  your  mind  easy,”  replied  Marat,  with  a 
hypocritical  smile,  which  to  the  patient  seemed  kind,  but 
to  Balsamo  ironical. 

Marat  saw  that  Balsamo  had  understood  him ; he  ap- 
proached and  whispered : “ It  is  a dreadful  operation. 
The  hone  is  full  of  cracks,  and  fearfully  sensitive.  He 
will  die,  not  of  the  wound,  but  of  the  pain.  That  is  what 
the  soul  does  for  this  poor  man.” 

“ Then  why  do  you  operate  ? Why  do  you  not  let  him 
die  in  peace?  ” 

“ Because  it  is  the  surgeon’s  duty  to  attempt  a cure, 
even  when  the  cure  seems  impossible.” 

“ And  you  say  he  will  suffer  ? ” 

“ Fearfully.” 

“ And  that  his  soul  is  the  cause  ? ” 

“His  soul,  which  has  too  much  sympathy  with  the 
body.” 

“ Then  why  not  operate  upon  the  soul  ? Perhaps  the 
tranquillity  of  the  one  would  cause  the  cure  of  the 
other.” 

“ I have  done  so,”  said  Marat,  while  the  attendants 
continued  to  bind  the  patient. 

“ You  have  prepared  his  soul  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ How  so?  ” 

“As  one  always  does, — by  words.  I spoke  to  his  soul, 
his  intelligence,  his  sensibility,  — to  that  organ  which 
caused  the  Greek  philosopher  to  exclaim,  ‘ Pain,  thou  art 
no  evil,’  — the  language  suitable  for  it.  I said  to  him  : 
‘ You  will  not  suffer/  That  is  the  only  remedy  hitherto 


56 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


known,  as  regards  the  soul,  — falsehood!  Why  is  this 
she-devil  of  a soul  connected  with  the  body?  When  I 
cut  off  this  head  just  now,  the  body  said  nothing,  yet  the 
operation  was  a serious  one.  But  motion  had  ceased,  sen- 
sibility was  extinguished,  the  soul  had  fled,  as  you  spiri- 
tualists say.  This  is  the  reason  why  the  head  I severed 
said  nothing,  why  the  body  which  I mutilated  allowed 
me  to  do  so  ; while  this  body  which  is  yet  inhabited  by 
a soul  — for  a short  time  indeed,  but  still  inhabited  — 
will  cry  out  fearfully.  Stop  your  ears  well,  Master,  you 
who  are  moved  by  this  union  of  body  and  soul,  which 
will  always  defeat  your  theory  until  you  succeed  in  isola- 
ting the  body  from  the  soul.” 

“ And  you  believe  we  shall  never  arrive  at  this 
isolation  ? ” 

“ Try,”  said  Marat ; “ this  is  an  excellent  opportunity.” 
“ Well,  yes,  you  are  right,”  said  Balsamo  ; “ the  oppor- 
tunity is  a good  one,  and  I will  make  the  attempt.” 

“ You  will  make  the  attempt  ? ” 

“ I will.” 

“ How  will  you  do  it  ? ” 

“ This  young  man  interests  me  ; he  shall  not  suffer.” 

“ You  are  an  illustrious  chief,”  said  Marat,  “but  you 
are  neither  God  the  Father,  nor  God  the  Son,  and  you 
cannot  prevent  this  man  from  suffering.” 

“If  he  were  not  to  feel  the  pain,  do  you  think  he 
would  recover  ? ” 

“ His  recovery  would  be  more  probable,  but  not 
certain.” 

Balsamo  cast  an  inexpressible  look  of  triumph  upon 
Marat,  and  placed  himself  before  the  young  patient, 
whose  frightened  eyes,  already  dilated  with  the  anguish 
of  terror,  met  his. 

“ Sleep,”  said  Balsamo,  not  alone  with  his  lips,  but 


THE  BODY  AND  THE  SOUL. 


57 


with  his  look,  with  his  will,  with  all  the  heat  of  his  blood, 
all  the  vital  energy  of  his  body. 

The  head-surgeon  was  just  beginning  to  feel  the  in- 
jured leg,  and  to  point  out  the  aggravated  nature  of  the 
case  to  his  students ; but  at  Balsamo’s  command  the 
young  man,  who  had  raised  himself  upon  his  seat,  oscil- 
lated for  a moment  in  the  arms  of  his  attendants,  his 
head  drooped,  and  his  eyes  closed. 

“ He  is  ill,”  said  Marat. 

“ No,  Monsieur.” 

“ But  do  you  not  see  that  he  loses  consciousness  1 ” 

“ He  is  sleeping.” 

“ What,  he  sleeps  ? 99 
“ Yes.” 

Every  one  turned  to  look  at  the  strange  physician, 
whom  they  took  for  a madman.  An  incredulous  smile 
hovered  on  Marat’s  lips. 

“ Is  it  usual  for  people  to  talk  while  in  a swoon  I ” 
asked  Balsamo. 

“ No.” 

“Well,  question  him,  — he  will  reply.” 

“ Eh  ! young  man  ! ” cried  Marat. 
u You  need  not  speak  so  loud,”  said  Balsamo  ; “ speak 
in  your  usual  tone.” 

“Tell  us  what  is  the  matter  with  you.” 

“I  was  ordered  to  sleep,  and  I sleep,”  replied  the 
patient. 

His  voice  was  perfectly  calm,  and  contrasted  strangely 
with  that  they  had  heard  a few  moments  before.  All  the 
attendants  looked  at  each  other. 

“ Now,”  said  Balsamo,  “release  him.” 

“That  is  impossible,”  said  the  head-surgeon;  “the 
slightest  movement  will  spoil  the  operation.” 

“ He  will  not  stir.” 


58 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“Who  can  assure  me  of  that]” 

“ I,  and  he  also,  — ask  him.” 

“ Can  you  be  left  untied,  my  friend  ] ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And  will  you  promise  not  to  move  ] ” 

“ I will  promise  it,  if  you  command  me.” 

“ I command  it.” 

“ Faith ! Monsieur,  you  speak  so  positively  that  I am 
tempted  to  make  the  trial.” 

“ Do  so,  Monsieur ; and  fear  nothing.” 

“Untie  him.” 

The  assistants  obeyed.  Balsamo  advanced  to  the  bed- 
side. “ From  this  moment,”  said  he,  “ do  not  stir  until 
I order  you.” 

A statue  upon  a tombstone  could  not  have  been  more 
motionless  than  the  patient,  upon  this  injunction. 

“Now  operate,  Monsieur,”  said  Balsamo;  “the  patient 
is  quite  ready.” 

The  surgeon  took  his  bistoury ; but  when  upon  the 
point  of  using  it,  he  hesitated. 

“ Cut,  Monsieur ! cut,  I tell  you  ! ” said  Balsamo,  with 
the  air  of  an  inspired  prophet. 

And  the  surgeon,  yielding  — like  Marat,  like  the 
patient,  like  every  one  present — to  the  irresistible  influ- 
ence of  Balsamo’s  words,  made  ready  to  begin.  The  sound 
of  the  knife  passing  through  the  flesh  was  heard,  but  the 
patient  did  not  stir,  nor  even  sigh. 

“ From  what  country  do  you  come,  my  friend  ] ” asked 
Balsamo. 

“I  am  a Breton,  Monsieur,”  replied  the  patient, 
smiling. 

“ And  you  love  your  country  ]” 

“ Oh,  Monsieur,  it  is  so  beautiful ! ” 

In  the  mean  time  the  surgeon  was  making  the  circular 


THE  BODY  AND  THE  SOUL. 


59 


incisions  in  the  flesh,  by  means  of  which,  in  amputations, 
the  bone  is  laid  bare. 

“ You  left  it  when  young*?”  asked  Balsamo. 

“ At  ten  years  of  age,  Monsieur.” 

The  incisions  were  made ; the  surgeon  placed  the  saw 
on  the  bone. 

“ My  friend,”  said  Balsamo,  “ sing  me  that  song  which 
the  salt-makers  of  Batz  chant  as  they  return  to  their  homes 
after  the  day’s  work  is  over.  I can  remember  only  the 
first  line,  — 

“ * My  salt  covered  o’er  with  its  mantle  of  foam.’  ” 

The  saw  was  now  severing  the  bone  ; but  at  Balsamo’s 
command  the  patient  smiled,  and  began  to  sing  in  a low, 
melodious,  ecstatic  voice,  like  a lover  or  like  a poet,  the 
following  verses  : — 

“ My  salt  covered  o’er  with  its  mantle  of  foam, 

The  lake  of  pure  azure  that  mirrors  my  home, 

My  stove  where  the  peats  ever  cheerfully  burn, 

And  the  honeyed  wheat-cake  which  awaits  my  return ; 

“The  wife  of  my  bosom,  my  silver-haired  sire, 

My  urchins  who  sport  round  the  clear  evening  fire ; 

And  there,  where  the  wild  flowers,  in  brightest  of  bloom, 

Their  fragrance  diffuse  round  my  loved  mother’s  tomb,  — 

“Blest,  blest  be  ye  all!  Now  the  day’s  task  is  o’er, 

And  I stand  once  again  at  my  own  cottage  door ; 

And  richly  will  love  my  brief  absence  repay, 

And  the  calm  joys  of  eve  the  rude  toils  of  the  day.” 

The  leg  fell  upon  the  bed  while  the  patient  was  still 
singing. 


60 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  YI. 

BODY  AND  SOUL. 

Every  one  looked  with  astonishment  at  the  patient, — 
with  admiration  at  the  physician.  Some  said  that  both 
were  mad.  Marat  communicated  this  opinion  to  Balsamo 
in  a whisper.  “ Terror  has  made  the  poor  devil  lose  his 
senses,”  said  he ; “ that  is  why  he  feels  no  pain.” 

“ I think  not,”  replied  Balsamo;  “and  far  from  having 
lost  his  senses,  I am  sure  that  if  I asked  him,  he  could  tell 
us  the  day  of  his  death  if  he  is  to  die,  or  the  period  of  his 
convalescence  if  he  is  to  recover.” 

Marat  was  almost  inclined  to  adopt  the  general  opinion, 
— that  Balsamo  was  as  mad  as  his  patient.  In  the  mean 
time,  however,  the  surgeon  was  tying  up  the  arteries, 
from  which  spouted  streams  of  blood. 

Balsamo  drew  a small  phial  from  his  pocket,  poured  a 
few  drops  of  the  liquid  it  contained  upon  a little  ball  of 
lint,  and  begged  the  chief  surgeon  to  apply  the  lint  to  the 
arteries.  The  latter  obeyed,  with  a certain  feeling  of  curi- 
osity. He  was  one  of  the  most  celebrated  practitioners  of 
that  period,  — a man  truly  enamoured  of  his  profession, 
who  repudiated  none  of  its  mysteries,  and  for  whom 
chance  was  but  the  makeshift  of  ignorance. 

He  applied  the  lint  to  the  artery,  which  quivered,  bub- 
bled, and  then  allowed  the  blood  to  escape  only  drop  by 
drop.  He  could  now  tie  up  the  artery  with  the  greatest 
ease. 


BODY  AND  SOUL. 


61 


This  time  Balsam o obtained  an  undoubted  triumph,  and 
all  present  asked  him  where  he  had  studied,  and  of  what 
school  he  was. 

“ I am  a German  physician  of  the  school  of  Gottingen,” 
he  replied,  “ and  I have  made  this  discovery  you  have 
just  witnessed.  However,  gentlemen  and  fellow-practi- 
tioners, I wish  this  discovery  to  remain  a secret  for  the 
present,  as  I have  a wholesome  terror  of  the  stake,  and  the 
parliament  of  Paris  might  perhaps  resume  their  functions 
once  more,  for  the  pleasure  of  condemning  a sorcerer  to 
be  burned.” 

The  head-surgeon  was  still  plunged  in  a revery.  Marat 
also  seemed  thoughtful,  but  he  was  the  first  to  break  the 
silence.  “ You  said  just  now,”  said  he,  “ that  if  you  were 
to  question  this  man  about  the  result  of  this  operation, 
he  would  reply  truly,  though  the  result  is  still  veiled 
in  futurity.” 

“ I assert  it  again,”  replied  Balsamo. 

“ Well,  let  us  have  the  proof.” 

“ What  is  this  poor  fellow’s  name  'i  ” 

“ Havard,”  replied  Marat. 

Balsamo  turned  to  the  patient,  whose  lips  were  yet  mur- 
muring the  last  words  of  the  plaintive  air. 

“ W ell,  my  friend,”  asked  he,  “ what  do  you  augur 
from  the  state  of  this  poor  Havard  ? ” 

“ What  do  I augur  from  his  state  1 ” replied  the  patient. 
“ Stay  ! I must  return  from  Brittany,  where  I was,  to  the 
Hotel  Dieu,  where  he  is.” 

“ Just  so.  Enter,  look  at  him,  and  tell  me  the  truth 
respecting  him.” 

“ Oh  ! he  is  very  ill ; his  leg  has  been  cut  off.” 

66  Indeed  ! ” said  Balsamo.  “ And  has  the  operation 
been  successful  ] ” 

“ Exceedingly  so  ; but  — ” 


62 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


The  patient’s  face  darkened. 

“ But  what  ? ” asked  Balsamo. 

“ But,”  resumed  the  patient,  “ he  has  a terrible  trial  to 
pass  through.  The  fever  — ” 

“ When  will  it  come  on  h ” 

“ At  seven  o’clock  this  evening.” 

All  the  spectators  looked  at  each  other. 

“ And  this  fever  ? ” asked  Balsamo. 

“ Oh  ! it  will  make  him  very  ill ; but  he  will  recover 
from  the  first  attack.” 

“ Are  you  sure  ? 99 
“ Oh,  yes  ! ” 

“ Then,  after  this  first  attack,  will  he  be  saved  ? ” 

“ Alas ! no,”  said  the  wounded  man,  sighing. 

“ Will  the  fever  return,  then  V9 

“ Oh,  yes  ! and  more  severely  than  before.  Poor  Ha- 
vard  ! poor  Havard  ! ” he  continued,  “ he  has  a wife  and 
several  children  ; ” and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

“ Must  his  wife  be  a widow,  then,  and  his  children 
orphans  1 99  asked  Balsamo. 

“Wait,  wait!” 

He  clasped  his  hands. 

“No,  no,”  he  exclaimed,  his  features  lighting  up  with 
an  expression  of  sublime  faith ; “no,  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren have  prayed  so  much  that  they  have  obtained  God’s 
mercy  for  him.” 

“ Then  he  will  recover  1 ” 

“ Yes.” 

“You  hear,  gentlemen,”  said  Balsamo;  “he  will 
recover.” 

“ Ask  him  in  how  many  days,”  said  Marat. 

“ In  how  many  days,  do  you  say  ? ” 

“ Yes ; you  said  he  could  indicate  the  phases,  and  the 
duration  of  his  convalescence.” 


BODY  AND  SOUL. 


63 


“ I ask  nothing  better  than  to  question  him  on  the 
subject.” 

“ Well,  then,  question  him  now.” 

“ And  when  do  you  think  Havard  will  recover  ? ” said 
Balsamo. 

“ Oh ! his  cure  will  take  a long  time,  — a month,  six 
weeks,  two  months.  He  entered  this  hospital  five  days 
ago,  and  he  will  leave  it  two  months  and  two  weeks  after 
having  entered.” 

“ And  he  will  leave  it  cured  1 ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ But,”  said  Marat,  “ unable  to  work,  and  consequently 
unable  to  maintain  his  wife  and  children.” 

Havard  again  clasped  his  hands.  “ Oh  ! God  is  good ; 
God  will  provide  for  him  ! ” 

“ And  how  will  God  provide  for  him  ? ” asked  Marat. 
“ As  I am  in  the  way  of  learning  to-day,  I should  much 
like  to  learn  that.” 

“ God  has  sent  to  his  bedside  a charitable  man,  who  has 
taken  pity  upon  him,  and  who  has  said  to  himself,  ‘ poor 
Havard  shall  not  want.’  ” 

The  spectators  were  amazed  ; Balsamo  smiled. 

“This  is  in  truth  a strange  scene,”  said  the  head- 
surgeon,  at  the  same  time  taking  the  patient’s  hand,  and 
feeling  his  chest  and  forehead  ; “this  man  is  dreaming.” 

“ Do  you  think  sol”  said  Balsamo. 

Then  darting  upon  the  sick  man  a look  of  authority  and 
energy,  “ Awake,  Havard  ! ” said  he. 

The  young  man  opened  his  eyes  with  some  difficulty, 
and  gazed  with  profound  surprise  upon  all  these  specta- 
tors, who  had  so  soon  laid  aside  their  threatening  attitude, 
and  assumed  an  inoffensive  manner  toward  him. 

“Well,”  said  he,  sadly,  “have  you  not  operated  yet? 
Are  you  still  going  to  make  me  suffer  ? ” 


64 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Balsamo  was  quick  to  make  the  reply,  for  he  feared  the 
invalid’s  emotion.  But  there  was  no  need  for  such  haste  ; 
the  surprise  of  all  the  spectators  was  so  great  that  none 
would  have  anticipated  him. 

“ My  friend,”  said  he,  “ be  calm.  The  head-surgeon 
has  operated  upon  your  leg  in  such  a manner  as  to  satisfy 
all  the  requirements  of  your  condition.  It  seems,  my 
poor  fellow,  that  you  are  not  very  strong-minded,  for  you 
fainted  at  the  first  incision.” 

“ Oh  ! so  much  the  better,”  said  the  Breton,  smilingly ; 
“ I felt  nothing,  and  my  sleep  was  even  sweet  and  refresh- 
ing. What  happiness,  — my  leg  will  not  be  cut  off ! ” 
But  just  at  that  moment  the  poor  man  looked  down, 
and  saw  the  bed  full  of  blood,  and  his  amputated  leg  lying 
near  him.  He  uttered  a scream,  and  this  time  fainted  in 
reality. 

“ Now  question  him,”  said  Balsamo,  coldly,  to  Marat ; 
“ you  will  see  if  he  replies.” 

Then,  taking  the  head-surgeon  aside,  while  the  nurses 
carried  the  poor  young  man  back  to  his  bed,  “ Monsieur,” 
said  Balsamo,  “ you  heard  what  your  poor  patient  said  ] ” 
“ Yes,  Monsieur,  that  he  would  recover.” 

“ He  said  something  else  ; he  said  that  God  would  take 
pity  upon  him,  and  would  send  him  wherewithal  to 
support  his  wife  and  children.” 

“ Well?” 

“Well,  Monsieur,  he  told  the  truth  on  this  point,  as  on 
the  others.  Only  you  must  undertake  to  be  the  chari- 
table medium  of  affording  him  this  assistance.  Here  is  a 
diamond,  worth  about  twenty  thousand  francs ; when 
the  poor  man  is  cured,  sell  it,  and  give  him  the  pro- 
ceeds. In  the  mean  time,  since  the  soul,  as  your  pupil 
Monsieur  Marat  said  very  truly,  has  a great  influence 
upon  the  body,  tell  Havard,  as  soon  as  he  is  restored  to 


BODY  AND  SOUL. 


65 


consciousness,  that  his  future  comfort  and  that  of  his 
children  is  secured.” 

“ But,  Monsieur,”  said  the  surgeon,  hesitating  to  take 
the  ring  which  Balsamo  offered  him,  “ if  he  should  not 
recover  1 ” 

“ He  will  recover.” 

“ Then  allow  me  at  least  to  give  you  a receipt.” 

“ Monsieur  ! ” 

“ That  is  the  only  condition  upon  which  I can  receive 
a jewel  of  such  value.” 

“ Do  as  you  think  right,  Monsieur.” 

“ Your  name,  if  you  please  h ” 

“The  Comte  de  Fenix.” 

The  surgeon  passed  into  the  adjoining  apartment, 
while  Marat,  overwhelmed,  confounded,  but  still  strug- 
gling against  the  evidence  of  his  senses,  approached 
Balsamo. 

In  five  minutes  the  surgeon  returned,  holding  in  his 
hand  the  following  receipt,  which  he  gave  Balsamo : 

I have  received  from  the  Comte  de  Fenix  a diamond,  which 
he  affirms  to  he  worth  twenty  thousand  francs,  the  value  of 
which  is  to  be  given  to  the  man  Havard  when  he  leaves  the 
Hotel  Dieu. 

This  15th  of  September,  1771. 

Guillotin,  M.D. 

Balsamo  bowed  to  the  doctor,  took  the  receipt,  and  left 
the  room,  followed  by  Marat. 

“You  are  forgetting  your  head,”  said  Balsamo,  for 
whom  the  wandering  of  the  young  student's  thoughts  was 
a great  triumph. 

“ Ah,  true  ! ” said  he ; and  he  again  picked  up  his 
dismal  burden. 

When  they  emerged  into  the  street,  both  walked  for- 
ward very  quickly,  without  uttering  a word  ; then,  having 
vol.  hi.  — 5 


66 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


reached  the  Rue  des  Cordeliers,  they  ascended  the  steep 
stairs  which  led  to  the  attic. 

Marat,  who  had  not  forgotten  the  disappearance  of  his 
watch,  stopped  before  the  lodge  of  the  portress,  — if  the 
den  which  she  inhabited  may  be  called  by  that  name,  — 
and  asked  for  Dame  Grivette. 

A thin,  stunted,  miserable-looking  child,  about  seven 
years  old,  replied,  in  a whining  voice  : “ Mamma  is  gone 
out ; she  said  that  when  you  came  home  I was  to  give  you 
this  letter.” 

“ No,  no,  my  little  friend,”  said  Marat;  “ tell  her  to 
bring  it  me  herself.” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur.” 

And  Marat  and  Balsamo  proceeded  on  their  way. 

“ Ah ! ” said  Marat,  pointing  out  a chair  to  Balsamo, 
and  falling  upon  a stool  himself,  “I  see  the  master  has 
some  fine  secrets.” 

“It  is  because  I have  entered  further  than  most  men 
into  the  confidence  of  Nature  and  of  God,”  replied 
Balsamo. 

“ Oh  ! ” said  Marat,  “ how  science  proves  man’s  omnip- 
otence, and  how  proud  one  should  be  that  he  is  a man ! ” 

“ True,  — and  a physician,  you  should  have  added.” 

“ Therefore  I am  proud  of  you,  Master,”  said  Marat. 

“ And  yet,”  replied  Balsamo,  smiling,  “ I am  but  a 
poor  physician  of  souls.” 

“ Oh  ! do  not  say  that,  Monsieur,  — you,  who  stopped 
the  patient’s  bleeding  by  material  means.” 

“ I thought  my  best  cure  was  that  of  having  prevented 
him  from  suffering.  True,  you  assured  me  he  was  mad.” 

“ He  was  so  for  a moment,  certainly.” 

“ What  do  you  call  madness  ? Is  it  not  an  abstraction 
of  the  soul  1 ” 

“ Or  of  the  mind,”  said  Marat. 


BODY  AND  SOUL. 


67 


“ We  will  not  discuss  the  point.  The  soul  serves  me  as 
a term  for  what  I mean.  When  the  object  is  found,  it 
matters  little  how  you  call  it.” 

“ There  is  where  we  differ,  Monsieur.  You  pretend  you 
have  found  the  thing,  and  seek  only  the  name  ; I maintain 
that  you  seek  both  the  object  and  the  name.” 

“We  will  return  to  that  immediately.  You  said,  then, 
that  madness  was  a temporary  abstraction  of  the  mind  ! ” 
“ Certainly.” 

“ Involuntary,  is  it  not  h ” 

“ Yes ; I have  seen  a madman  at  Bic^tre,  who  bit  the 
iron  bars  of  his  cell,  crying  out  all  the  time,  ‘ Cook,  your 
pheasants  are  very  tender,  but  they  are  badly  dressed.1  ” 

“ But  you  admit,  at  least,  that  this  madness  passes  over 
the  mind  like  a cloud,  and  that  when  it  has  passed,  the 
mind  resumes  its  former  brightness  % ” 

“ That  scarcely  ever  happens.” 

“ Yet  you  saw  our  patient  recover  his  senses  perfectly 
after  his  insane  dream.” 

“ I saw  it,  but  I did  not  understand  what  I saw.  It  is 
an  exceptional  case,  — one  of  those  strange  events  which 
the  Israelites  called  miracles.” 

“No,  Monsieur,”  said  Balsamo  ; “it  is  simply  the  ab- 
straction of  the  soul,  the  twofold  isolation  of  spirit  and 
matter,  — of  matter,  a thing  inert,  dust,  which  will  return 
to  dust ; and  soul,  the  divine  spark  which  was  enclosed  for 
a short  period  in  that  dark  lantern  called  the  body,  and 
which,  being  the  child  of  heaven,  will  return  to  heaven 
after  the  body  has  sunk  to  earth.” 

“ Then  you  abstracted  the  soul  momentarily  from  the 
body  f ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur  ; I commanded  it  to  quit  the  miserable 
abode  which  it  occupied.  I raised  it  from  the  abyss  of 
suffering  in  which  pain  had  bound  it,  and  transported  it 


68 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


into  pure  and  heavenly  regions.  What,  then,  remained 
for  the  surgeon1?  That  which  remained  for  your  dissec- 
ting knife,  when  you  severed  from  the  dead  body  that 
head  you  are  carrying,  — nothing  but  inert  flesh,  matter, 
clay  ” 

“ And  in  whose  name  did  you  command  the  soul  ? ” 

“ In  his  name  who  created  all  souls  by  his  breath,  — 
the  souls  of  worlds,  the  souls  of  men,  — in  the  name  of 
God.” 

“ Then,”  said  Marat,  “ you  deny  free-will ! ” 

“ I ! ” said  Balsamo ; “ on  the  contrary,  what  am  I 
doing  at  this  moment  1 I show  you,  on  the  one  hand, 
free-will ; on  the  other,  abstraction.  I show  you  a dying 
man,  a prey  to  excruciating  pain ; this  man  has  a stoical 
soul,  he  anticipates  the  operation,  he  asks  for  it,  he  bears 
it,  hut  he  suffers.  That  is  free-will.  But  when  I ap- 
proach the  dying  man,  — I,  the  ambassador  of  God,  the 
prophet,  the  apostle, — and  taking  pity  upon  this  man 
who  is  my  fellow- creature,  I abstract,  by  the  powers 
which  the  Lord  has  given  me,  the  soul  from  the  suffering 
body,  this  blind,  inert,  insensible  body  becomes  a spectacle 
which  the  soul  contemplates  with  a pitying  eye  from  the 
height  of  its  celestial  sphere.  Did  you  not  hear  Havard, 
when  speaking  of  himself,  say  ‘ this  poor  Havard  M He 
did  not  say  ‘ myself.’  It  was  because  this  soul  had  in 
truth  no  longer  any  connection  with  the  body,  — it  was 
already  winging  its  way  to  heaven.” 

“ But,  by  this  way  of  reckoning,  man  is  nothing,”  said 
Marat ; “ and  I can  no  longer  say  to  the  tyrant,  ‘ You  have 
power  over  my  body,  but  none  over  my  soul/  ” 

“ Ah  ! now  you  pass  from  truth  to  sophism  ; I have 
already  told  you,  Monsieur,  it  is  your  failing.  God  lends 
the  soul  to  the  body,  it  is  true  ; but  it  is  no  less  true  that 
during  the  time  the  soul  animates  this  body,  there  is  a 


BODY  AND  SOUL. 


69 


union  between  the  two,  an  influence  of  one  over  the 
other,  — a supremacy  of  matter  over  mind,  or  mind  over 
matter,  according  as,  for  some  purpose  hidden  from  us, 
God  permits  either  the  body  or  the  soul  to  be  the  ruling 
power.  But  it  is  no  less  true  that  the  soul  which  ani- 
mates the  beggar  is  as  pure  as  that  which  reigns  in  the 
bosom  of  the  king.  That  is  the  dogma  which  you,  an 
apostle  of  equality,  ought  to  preach.  Prove  the  equality 
of  the  spiritual  essences  in  these  two  cases,  since  you  can 
establish  it  by  the  aid  of  all  that  is  most  sacred  in  the  eyes 
of  men,  by  holy  books  and  traditions,  by  science  and 
faith.  Of  what  importance  is  the  equality  of  two  sub- 
stances h With  physical  equality  you  do  not  soar  to  the 
throne  of  God.  Just  now  this  poor  wounded  man,  this 
ignorant  child  of  the  people,  told  you  things  concerning 
his  illness  which  none  among  the  doctors  would  have  ven- 
tured to  say.  How  was  that  ? It  was  because  his  soul, 
temporarily  freed  from  earthly  ties,  floated  above  this 
world,  and  saw  from  on  high  a mystery  which  our  opaque- 
ness of  vision  hides  from  us.” 

Marat  turned  his  dead  head  back  and  forward  upon  the 
table,  seeking  a reply  which  he  could  not  find.  “ Yes,” 
muttered  he,  at  last,  “ yes ; there  is  something  supernat- 
ural in  all  this.51 

“ Perfectly  natural,  on  the  contrary,  Monsieur.  Cease 
to  call  supernatural  what  has  its  origin  in  the  functions 
fulfilling  the  destiny  of  the  soul.  These  functions  are 
natural,  although  perhaps  not  known.” 

“But  though  unknown  to  us,  Master,  these  functions 
cannot  surely  be  a mystery  to  you.  The  horse,  unknown 
to  the  Peruvians,  was  yet  familiar  to  the  Spaniards,  who 
had  tamed  him.” 

“ It  would  be  presumptuous  in  me  to  say,  * I know/  I 
am  more  humble,  Monsieur;  I say,  ‘I  believe/” 


70 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Well,  what  do  you  believe  ?” 

“ I believe  that  the  first,  the  most  powerful,  of  all  laws 
is  the  law  of  progress.  I believe  that  God  has  created 
nothing  without  having  a beneficent  design  in  view  ; only, 
as  the  duration  of  this  world  is  uncalculated  and  incalcu- 
lable, the  progress  is  slow.  Our  planet,  according  to  the 
Scriptures,  was  sixty  centuries  old  when  printing  came 
like  an  immense  beacon-light  to  illuminate  the  past  and 
the  future.  With  the  advent  of  printing,  obscurity  and 
forgetfulness  vanished.  Printing  is  the  memory  of  the 
world.  Well ! Gutenberg  invented  printing,  and  I have 
recovered  my  confidence.” 

“ Ah ! ” said  Marat,  ironically,  “ you  will  perhaps  be 
able  at  last  to  read  men’s  hearts.” 

“Why  not?” 

“ Then  you  will  open  that  little  window  in  men’s  breasts 
which  the  ancients  so  much  desired  to  see  1 ” 

“ There  is  no  need  for  that,  Monsieur.  I shall  separate 
the  soul  from  the  body  ; and  the  soul  — the  pure,  immac- 
ulate daughter  of  God  — will  reveal  to  me  all  the  turpi- 
tudes of  the  mortal  covering  it  is  condemned  to  animate.” 

“ Can  you  reveal  material  secrets  ? ” 

“ Why  not?” 

“Can  you  tell  me,  for  instance,  who  has  stolen  my 
watch  ? ” 

“ You  lower  science  to  a base  level,  Monsieur.  But  no 
matter.  God’s  greatness  is  proved  as  much  by  a grain  of 
sand  as  by  the  mountain,  — by  the  flesh-worm  as  by  the 
elephant.  Yes,  I will  tell  you  who  has  stolen  your 
watch.” 

Just  then  a timid  knock  was  heard  at  the  door.  It  was 
Marat’s  servant,  who  had  returned,  and  who  came,  accord- 
ing to  the  young  surgeon’s  order,  to  bring  the  letter. 


MARAT’S  PORTRESS, 


71 


CHAPTER  VII. 

marat’s  portress. 

The  door  opened,  and  Dame  Grivette  entered.  This 
woman,  whom  we  have  not  before  taken  the  trouble  to 
sketch,  because  she  was  one  of  those  characters  whom  the 
painter  keeps  in  the  background  so  long  as  he  has  no 
occasion  for  them,  — this  woman  now  advances  in  the 
moving  picture  of  this  history,  and  demands  her  place  in 
the  immense  picture  we  have  undertaken  to  unroll  before 
the  eyes  of  our  readers,  in  which,  if  our  genius  equalled 
our  good-will,  we  would  introduce  all  classes  of  beings, 
from  the  beggar  to  the  king,  from  Caliban  to  Ariel,  from 
Ariel  to  God. 

We  shall  now  therefore  attempt  a sketch  of  Dame 
Grivette,  who  steps  forth  out  of  the  shade,  and  advances 
toward  us.  She  was  a tall,  withered  creature,  from  thirty 
to  thirty-five  years  of  age,  with  dark  sallow  complexion, 
and  blue  eyes  encircled  with  black  rings,  — the  fearful 
type  of  that  decline,  that  wasting-away,  which  is  produced 
in  densely  populated  towns  by  poverty,  bad  air,  and  every 
sort  of  degradation,  mental  as  well  as  bodily,  among  those 
creatures  whom  God  created  so  beautiful,  and  who  would 
otherwise  have  become  magnificent  in  their  perfect  devel- 
opment, as  all  living  denizens  of  earth,  air,  and  sky  are 
when  man  has  not  made  their  life  one  long  punishment, 
— when  he  has  not  tortured  their  limbs  with  chains  and 
their  stomachs  with  hunger,  or  with  food  almost  as  fatal. 


72 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Thus  Marat’s  portress  would  have  been  a beautiful 
woman,  if  from  her  fifteenth  year  she  had  not  dwelt  in  a 
den  without  air  or  light;  if  the  fire  of  her  natural  in- 
stincts, fed  by  this  oven-like  heat,  or  by  the  icy  cold,  had 
not  ceaselessly  burned.  She  had  long,  thin  hands,  which 
the  needle  of  the  sempstress  had  furrowed  with  little  cuts, 
which  the  suds  of  the  wash-house  had  cracked  and  softened, 
which  the  burning  coals  of  the  kitchen  had  roasted  and 
tanned,  — but  in  spite  of  all,  hands  which,  by  their  form, 
that  indelible  trace  of  the  divine  mould,  would  have  been 
called  royal,  if,  instead  of  being  blistered  by  the  broom, 
they  had  wielded  the  sceptre.  So  true  is  it  that  this  poor 
human  body  is  only  the  outward  sign  of  our  profession. 

But  in  this  woman  the  mind,  which  was  superior  to  the 
body,  and  which  consequently  had  resisted  external  cir- 
cumstances better,  kept  watch  like  a lamp  ; it  illumined, 
as  it  were,  the  body  by  a reflected  light,  and  at  times  a 
ray  of  beauty,  youth,  intelligence,  and  love  was  seen  to 
glance  from  her  dulled  and  stupid  eyes,  — a ray  of  all  the 
finest  feelings  of  the  human  heart. 

Balsamo  gazed  attentively  at  the  woman,  or  rather  at 
this  singular  nature,  which  from  the  first  had  arrested  his 
attention. 

The  portress  entered,  holding  the  letter  in  her  hand,  and 
in  a soft,  insinuating  voice,  in  the  voice  of  an  old  woman, 
— for  women  condemned  to  poverty  are  old  at  thirty,  — 
said,  “ Monsieur  Marat,  here  is  the  letter  you  asked  for.” 

“ It  was  not  the  letter  I wanted,”  said  Marat ; “ I wished 
to  see  you.” 

“Well!  here  I am  at  your  service,  Monsieur  Marat.” 
Dame  Grivette  made  a reverence.  “ What  do  you  want 
with  me?” 

“ You  know  very  well  what  I want ; I want  to  know 
something  about  my  watch.” 


MARAT’S  PORTRESS. 


73 


“ Ah  ! well,  there  ! I can’t  tell  what  has  become  of  it. 
I saw  it  all  day  yesterday  hanging  from  the  nail  over  the 
mantelpiece.,, 

“ You  mistake,  all  day  yesterday  it  was  in  my  fob ; 
but  when  I went  out  at  six  o’clock  in  the  evening,  I put 
it  under  the  candlestick,  because  I was  going  among  a 
crowd,  and  I feared  it  might  be  stolen.” 

“ If  you  put  it  under  the  candlestick,  it  must  be  there 
yet ; ” and  with  feigned  simplicity,  which  she  was  far 
from  suspecting  to  be  so  transparent,  she  raised  the  very 
candlestick  of  the  pair  which  ornamented  the  mantelpiece, 
under  which  Marat  had  concealed  his  watch. 

“ Yes,  that  is  the  candlestick,  sure  enough,”  said  the 
young  man  ; “ but  where  is  the  watch  ? ” 

“ No  ; I see  it  is  no  longer  there.  Perhaps  you  did 
not  put  it  there,  Monsieur  Marat.” 

“ But  when  I tell  you  — ” 

“ Look  for  it  carefully.” 

“ Oh  ! I have  looked  carefully,”  said  Marat,  with  an 
angry  glance. 

“ Then  you  have  lost  it.” 

“ But  I tell  you  that  yesterday  I put  it  under  that 
candlestick  myself.” 

“ Then  some  one  must  have  entered,”  said  Dame  Gri- 
vette  ; “ you  see  so  many  people,  so  many  strangers.” 

“ All  an  excuse ! ” cried  Marat,  more  and  more  enraged. 
“ You  know  very  well  that  no  one  has  been  here  since 
yesterday.  No,  no  ; my  watch  is  gone  where  the  silver 
top  of  my  last  cane  went,  where  the  little  silver  spoon  you 
know  of  went,  and  my  knife  with  the  six  blades.  I am 
robbed,  Dame  Grivette  ! I have  borne  much,  but  I shall 
not  tolerate  this  ; so  take  notice.” 

“ But,  monsieur,”  said  Dame  Grivette,  “ do  you  mean 
to  accuse  me  ? ” 


74 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


‘‘You  ought  to  take  care  of  my  effects.” 

“ I am  not  the  only  one  to  have  the  key.” 

“ You  are  the  portress.” 

“ You  give  me  a crown  a month,  and  you  expect  to  be 
as  well  served  as  if  you  had  ten  domestics.” 

“ I do  not  care  about  being  badly  served,  but  I do  care 
whether  I am  robbed  or  not.” 

“ Monsieur,  I am  an  honest  woman.” 

“ Yes,  an  honest  woman  whom  I shall  give  in  charge 
to  the  police  if  my  watch  is  not  found  in  an  hour.” 

“ To  the  police  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ To  the  police, — an  honest  woman  like  me  ? ” 
u An  honest  woman  ! an  honest  woman  ! ” 

“ Yes,  — and  of  whom  nothing  bad  can  be  said  ; do 
you  hear  that  ? ” 

“ Come,  come  ! enough  of  this,  Dame  Grivette.” 

“ Ah  ! I thought  that  you  suspected  me,  when  you 
went  out.” 

“ I have  suspected  you  ever  since  the  top  of  my  cane 
disappeared.” 

“ Well ! Monsieur  Marat,  I will  tell  you  something,  in 
my  turn.” 

“ What  will  you  tell  me  ? ” 

“While  you  were  away  I have  consulted  my  neighbors.” 
“ Your  neighbors,  — for  what  purpose  ? ” 

“ Respecting  your  suspicions.” 

“ I had  said  nothing  of  them  to  you  at  the  time.” 

“ But  I saw  them  plainly.” 

“ And  the  neighbors  ? I am  curious  to  know  what 
they  said.” 

“ They  said  that  if  you  suspect  me,  and  have  even 
gone  so  far  as  to  impart  your  suspicions  to  another  person, 
you  must  pursue  the  affair  to  the  end.” 


MARAT’S  PORTRESS. 


75 


“ Well ! ” 

“ That  is  to  say,  you  must  prove  that  the  watch  has 
been  taken.” 

“It  has  been  taken,  since  it  was  there,  and  is  now  gone.’’ 

“ Yes,  but  taken  by  me,  — taken  by  me,  do  you  under- 
stand ? Oh ! justice  requires  proofs  ; your  word  will  not 
be  sufficient,  Monsieur  Marat;  you  are  no  more  than  one 
of  ourselves,  Monsieur  Marat.” 

Balsamo,  calm  as  ever,  looked  on  during  this  scene. 
He  saw  that  though  Marat’s  conviction  was  not  altered, 
he  had,  nevertheless,  lowered  his  tone. 

66  Therefore,”  continued  the  portress,  “ if  you  do  not  ren- 
der justice  to  my  probity,  if  you  do  not  make  some  repa- 
ration to  my  character,  it  is  I who  will  send  for  the  police, 
as  our  landlord  just  now  advised  me  to  do.” 

Marat  bit  his  lips.  He  knew  there  was  a real  danger 
in  this.  The  landlord  was  an  old,  rich,  retired  merchant. 
He  lived  on  the  third  story  ; and  the  scandal-mongers  of 
the  quarter  did  not  hesitate  to  assert  that,  some  ten  years 
before,  he  had  not  been  indifferent  to  the  charms  of  the 
portress,  who  was  then  kitchen-maid  to  his  wife. 

Now,  Marat  attended  mysterious  meetings.  Marat  was 
a young  man  of  not  very  settled  habits,  besides  being  ad- 
dicted to  concealment  and  suspected  by  the  police ; and 
for  all  these  reasons  he  was  not  anxious  to  have  an  affair 
with  the  commissary,  seeing  that  it  might  tend  to  place 
him  in  the  hands  of  Monsieur  de  Sartines,  who  liked  much 
to  read  the  papers  of  young  men  such  as  Marat,  and  to 
send  the  authors  of  such  noble  writings  to  houses  of  medi- 
tation such  as  Vincennes,  the  Bastille,  Charenton  and 
Bicetre. 

Marat,  therefore,  lowered  his  tone  ; but  in  proportion  as 
he  did  so,  the  portress  raised  hers.  The  result  was  that 
this  nervous  and  hysterical  woman  raged  like  a flame 


76 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


which  is  fed  by  a current  of  air.  Threats,  oaths,  cries,  tears, 
— she  employed  all  in  turn  ; it  was  a regular  tempest. 

Then  Balsamo  judged  that  the  time  had  come  for  him 
to  interfere.  He  advanced  toward  the  woman,  and  look- 
ing at  her  with  an  ominous  and  fiery  glance,  he  stretched 
two  fingers  toward  her,  uttering,  not  so  much  with  his  lips 
as  with  his  eyes,  his  thought,  his  whole  will,  a word 
which  Marat  could  not  hear. 

Immediately  Dame  Grivette  became  silent,  tottered, 
and,  losing  her  balance,  staggered  backward,  her  eyes 
fearfully  dilated,  and  fell  upon  the  bed  without  uttering  a 
word.  After  a short  interval  her  eyes  closed  and  opened 
again,  but  this  time  the  pupils  could  not  be  seen ; her 
tongue  moved  convulsively,  but  her  body  was  motionless ; 
and  yet  her  hands  trembled  as  if  shaken  by  fever. 

“ Oh  ! oh  ! ” said  Marat ; “ like  the  wounded  man  in 
the  hospital ! ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Then  she  is  asleep  ? ” 

“ Silence  ! ” said  Balsamo.  Then,  addressing  Marat, 
“ Monsieur,”  said  he,  “ the  moment  has  now  come  when 
all  your  incredulity  must  cease.  Pick  up  that  letter  which 
this  woman  was  bringing  you,  and  which  she  dropped 
when  she  fell.” 

Marat  obeyed.  “ Well  ? ” he  asked. 

“Wait!”  and  taking  the  letter  from  Marat’s  hands, 
“You  know  from  whom  this  letter  comes?”  asked  Bal- 
samo of  the  somnambulist. 

“ No,  Monsieur,”  she  replied. 

Balsamo  held  the  sealed  letter  close  to  the  woman. 
“ Read  it  to  Monsieur  Marat,  who  wishes  to  know  the 
contents.” 

“ She  cannot  read,”  said  Marat. 

“ Yes,  but  you  can  read  ? ” 


MARAT’S  PORTRESS. 


77 


“ Of  course.” 

“ Well,  read  it,  and  she  will  read  it  after  you,  in  propor- 
tion  as  the  words  are  engraven  upon  your  mind.” 

Marat  broke  the  seal  of  the  letter  and  read  it,  while 
Dame  Grivette,  standing,  and  trembling  beneath  the  all- 
powerful  will  of  Balsamo,  repeated,  word  for  word,  as  Marat 
read  them  to  himself,  the  following  words  : — 

My  dear  Hippocrates,  — Apelles  has  just  finished  his  por- 
trait ; he  has  sold  it  for  fifty  francs,  and  these  fifty  francs  are 
to  be  eaten  to-day  at  the  tavern  in  the  Rue  St.  Jacques.  Will 
you  come  ? 

P.  S.  — It  is  understood  part  is  to  be  drunk. 

Your  friend, 

L.  David. 

It  was  word  for  word  what  was  written.  Marat  let  the 
paper  fall  from  his  hand. 

“Well,”  said  Balsamo,  “you  see  that  Dame  Grivette 
also  has  a soul,  and  that  this  soul  wakes  while  she 
sleeps.” 

“ And  a strange  soul,”  said  Marat,  — “a  soul  which  can 
read  when  the  body  cannot.” 

“ Because  the  soul  knows  everything  ; because  the  soul 
can  reproduce  by  reflection.  Try  to  make  her  read  this 
when  she  is  awake,  — that  is  to  say,  when  the  body  has 
wrapped  the  soul  in  its  shadow,  — and  you  will  see.” 

Marat  was  dumb ; all  his  materialistic  philosophy  re- 
belled within  him,  but  he  could  not  find  a reply. 

“ Now,”  continued  Balsamo,  “ we  will  pass  on  to  what 
interests  you  most,  — that  is  to  say,  to  what  has  become 
of  your  watch.  Dame  Grivette,”  said  he,  turning  to  her, 
“ who  has  taken  Monsieur  Marat’s  watch  ? ” 

The  somnambulist  made  a violent  gesture  of  denial. 
{i  I do  not  know,”  said  she. 

“You  know  perfectly  well,”  persisted  Balsamo,  “and 


78 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


you  shall  tell  me”  Then,  with  a more  decided  exertion 
of  his  will,  “ Who  has  taken  Monsieur  Marat’s  watch  ? 
Speak ! ” 

“ Dame  Grivette  has  not  stolen  Monsieur  Marat’s  watch. 
Why  does  Monsieur  Marat  believe  she  has  ? ” 

“ If  it  is  not  she  who  has  taken  it,  tell  me  who  has  *?  ” 

“ I do  not  know.” 

“ You  see,”  said  Marat,  “ conscience  is  an  impenetrable 
refuge.” 

“Well,  since  you  have  only  this  last  doubt,”  said  Bal- 
samo,  “ you  shall  be  convinced.”  Then,  turning  again  to 
the  portress,  “ Tell  me  who  took  the  watch ; I will  it.” 

“ Come,  come,”  said  Marat ; “ what  you  ask  is  an 
impossibility ! ” 

“ You  heard  1 ” said  Balsamo ; “ I have  said  that  I 
will  it.” 

Then,  under  the  pressure  of  this  imperious  command, 
the  unhappy  woman  began  to  wring  her  hands  and  arms 
as  if  she  were  mad ; a shudder  like  that  of  an  epileptic  fit 
ran  through  her  whole  body;  her  mouth  was  distorted 
with  a hideous  expression  of  terror  and  weakness;  she 
threw  herself  back,  rigid,  as  if  she  were  in  a painful  con- 
vulsion, and  fell  upon  the  bed. 

“ No,  no,”  said  she,  “ I will  rather  die  ! ” 

“ Well,”  said  Balsamo,  with  a burst  of  anger  which 
made  the  fire  flash  from  his  eyes,  “ you  shall  die,  if  neces- 
sary, but  you  shall  speak.  Your  silence  and  your  ob- 
stinacy are  sufficient  indications  for  me  ; but  for  an 
incredulous  person  we  must  have  irrefragable  proofs. 
Speak ! I will  it ; who  has  taken  the  watch  1 ” 

The  nervous  excitement  was  at  its  height ; all  the 
strength  and  power  of  the  somnambulist  struggled  against 
Balsamo’s  will ; inarticulate  cries  escaped  from  her  lips, 
which  were  stained  with  a reddish  foam. 


MARAT’S  PORTRESS. 


79 


“ She  will  fall  into  an  epileptic  fit,”  said  Marat. 

“ Fear  nothing  ; it  is  the  demon  of  falsehood  who  is  in 
her,  and  who  refuses  to  come  out ! ” 

Then,  turning  toward  the  woman,  and  throwing  into  her 
face  as  much  magnetic  fluid  as  his  hands  could  contain, 
“ Speak  ! ” said  he  ; “ who  has  taken  the  watch  ? ” 

“ Dame  Grivette,”  replied  the  somnambulist,  in  an  al- 
most inaudible  voice. 

“ When  did  she  take  it  1 ” 

“ Yesterday  evening.” 
l<  Where  was  it  1 ” 

“ Under  the  candlestick.” 

“ What  has  she  done  with  it  1 ” 

“ She  has  taken  it  to  the  Rue  St.  Jacques.” 

“ Where  in  the  Rue  St.  Jacques  ] ” 

“ To  No.  29.” 

“ Which  story  1 ” 

“ The  fifth.” 

“ To  whom  did  she  give  it  1 ” 

“ To  a shoemaker’s  apprentice.” 

“ What  is  his  name  1 ” 

« Simon.” 

u What  is  this  man  to  her  1 ” 

The  woman  was  silent. 
u What  is  this  man  to  her  ? ” 

The  somnambulist  was  still  silent. 

“ What  is  this  man  to  her  1 ” repeated  Balsamo. 

The  same  silence. 

Balsamo  extended  toward  her  his  hand  impregnated 
with  the  fluid,  and  the  unfortunate  woman,  overwhelmed 
by  this  terrible  attack,  had  only  strength  to  murmur, 
“ Her  lover.” 

Marat  uttered  an  exclamation  of  astonishment. 

“ Silence  ! ” said  Balsamo ; “ allow  conscience  to  speak.” 


80 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Then,  continuing  to  address  the  woman,  who  was 
trembling  all  over,  and  bathed  in  perspiration,  “ And 
who  advised  Dame  Grivette  to  steal  the  watch  V}  he 
asked. 

“ No  one.  She  raised  the  candlestick  by  accident ; she 
law  the  watch,  and  the  demon  tempted  her.” 

“ Did  she  do  it  from  want  1 99 

“ No ; for  she  did  not  sell  the  watch.” 

" She  gave  it  away,  then  1 ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ To  Simon  1 ” 

The  somnambulist  made  a violent  effort. 

“ To  Simon,”  said  she. 

Then  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  burst 
into  a flood  of  tears. 

Balsamo  glanced  at  Marat,  who,  with  gaping  mouth, 
disordered  hair,  and  dilated  eyes,  was  gazing  at  the  fearful 
spectacle. 

“ Well,  Monsieur,”  said  Balsamo,  “ you  see  at  last  the 
struggle  between  the  body  and  the  soul.  You  see  con- 
science forced  to  yield,  even  in  a redoubt  which  it  had 
believed  impregnable.  Do  you  confess  now  that  God  has 
forgotten  nothing  in  this  world,  and  that  he  is  in  every- 
thing 1 Then  deny  no  longer  that  there  is  a conscience  ; 
deny  no  longer  that  there  is  a soul ; deny  no  longer  the 
unknown,  young  man  ! Above  all,  do  not  deny  faith, 
which  is  power  supreme.  And  since  you  are  ambitious, 
Monsieur  Marat,  study  ; speak  little,  think  much,  and  do 
not  judge  your  superiors  lightly.  Adieu  ! my  words  have 
opened  a vast  field  before  you ; cultivate  this  field,  which 
contains  hidden  treasures.  Adieu  ! Happy  wall  you  be 
if  you  can  conquer  the  demon  of  incredulity  which  is  in 
you,  as  I have  conquered  the  demon  of  falsehood  which 
was  in  this  woman  ; ” and  with  these  words,  which  caused 


MARAT’S  PORTRESS. 


81 


the  blush  of  shame  to  tinge  the  young  man’s  cheeks,  he 
left  the  room. 

Marat  did  not  even  think  of  taking  leave  of  him.  But 
after  his  first  stupor  was  over,  he  perceived  that  Dame 
Grivette  was  still  sleeping.  This  sleep  struck  terror  to 
his  soul.  Marat  would  rather  have  seen  a corpse  upon 
his  bed,  even  if  Monsieur  de  Sartines  should  interpret  the 
fact  after  his  own  fashion. 

He  gazed  on  this  lifeless  form,  these  turned-up  eyes, 
these  palpitations,  and  he  felt  afraid.  His  fear  increased 
when  the  living  corpse  rose,  advanced  toward  him,  took 
his  hand,  and  said,  “ Come  with  me,  Monsieur  Marat.” 

“ Whither?” 

“ To  the  Bue  St.  Jacques.” 

“Why?” 

“ Come,  come  ; he  commands  me  to  take  you. 

Marat,  who  had  fallen  upon  a chair,  rose.  Then  Dame 
Grivette,  still  asleep,  opened  the  door,  and  descended  the 
stairs  with  the  stealthy  pace  of  a cat,  scarcely  touching 
the  steps.  Marat  followed,  fearing  every  moment  that  she 
would  fall,  and  in  falling  break  her  neck.  Having  reached 
the  foot  of  the  stairs,  she  crossed  the  threshold  and  en- 
tered the  street,  still  followed  by  the  young  man,  whom 
she  led  in  this  manner  to  the  house  and  the  garret  she 
had  pointed  out.  She  knocked  at  the  door  ; Marat  felt 
his  heart  beat  so  violently  that  he  thought  it  must  be 
audible. 

A man  was  in  the  garret;  he  opened  the  door.  In 
this  man  Marat  recognized  a workman  of  from  twenty- 
five  to  thirty  years  of  age,  whom  he  had  several  times 
seen  in  the  porter’s  lodge.  Seeing  Dame  Grivette  followed 
by  Marat,  the  man  started  back.  But  the  somnambulist 
walked  straight  to  the  bed,  and  putting  her  hand  under 
the  thin  bolster,  she  drew  out  the  watch,  which  she  gave 

VOL.  III.  — 6 


82 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


to  Marat,  while  the  shoemaker  Simon,  pale  with  terror, 
dared  not  utter  a word,  and  watched  with  alarmed  gaze 
the  least  movements  of  this  woman,  whom  he  believed  to 
be  mad. 

Scarcely  had  her  hand  touched  Marat’s,  in  returning 
him  the  watch,  when  she  gave  a deep  sigh  and  murmured  : 
“ He  awakes  me ! He  awakes  me  ! ” 

Her  nerves  relaxed  like  a cable  freed  from  the  capstan, 
the  vital  spark  again  animated  her  eyes,  and  finding  her- 
self face  to  face  with  Marat,  her  hand  in  his,  and  still 
holding  the  watch,  — that  is  to  say,  the  irrefragable  proof 
of  her  crime,  — she  fell  upon  the  floor  of  the  garret  in  a 
deep  swoon. 

“ Does  conscience  really  exist,  then  1 ” asked  Marat  of 
himself  as  he  left  the  room,  doubt  in  his  heart,  and  revery 
in  his  eyes. 


THE  MAN  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


83 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  MAN  AND  HIS  WORKS. 

While  Marat  was  employing  his  time  so  profitably  in  phi- 
losophizing on  conscience  and  a dual  existence,  another 
philosopher  in  the  Rue  Plastriere  was  also  busy  in  recon- 
structing, piece  by  piece,  every  part  of  the  preceding  even- 
ing’s adventures,  and  asking  himself  if  he  were  or  were  not 
a very  wicked  man.  Rousseau,  with  his  elbows  leaning 
upon  the  table,  and  his  head  drooping  heavily  on  his  left 
shoulder,  was  deep  in  thought.  His  philosophical  and 
political  works,  “ Emile  ” and  “ Le  Contrat  Social,”  were 
lying  open  before  him. 

From  time  to  time,  when  his  reflections  required  it,  he 
stooped  down  to  turn  over  the  leaves  of  these  books, 
which  he  knew  by  heart.  “ Ah  ! good  heavens  ! ” said 
he,  reading  a paragraph  from  “ Emile  ” upon  liberty  of 
conscience,  “ what  incendiary  expressions  ! What  philos- 
ophy ! Just  Heaven  ! was  there  ever  in  the  world  a fire- 
brand like  me  ? Wrhat ! ” he  added,  clasping  his  hands 
above  his  head,  “ have  I written  such  violent  outbursts 
against  the  throne,  — the  altar  of  society  ? I can  no 
longer  be  surprised  if  some  dark  and  brooding  minds  have 
taken  advantage  of  my  sophisms,  and  have  gone  astray 
in  the  paths  which  I have  strewed  for  them  with  all 
the  flowers  of  rhetoric.  I have  acted  as  the  disturber 
of  society  ! ” 

He  rose  from  his  chair  and  paced  the  room  in  great 
agitation.  “I  have,”  he  continued,  “abused  those  men 


84 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


in  power  who  exercise  tyranny  over  authors.  Fool,  bar- 
barian that  I was  ! Those  people  are  right,  — a thousand 
times  right ! What  am  I,  if  not  a man  dangerous  to  the 
State  1 My  words,  written  to  enlighten  the  masses,  — at 
least,  such  was  the  pretext  I gave  myself,  — have  become 
a torch  which  will  set  the  world  on  fire.  I have  sown 
discourses  on  the  inequality  of  ranks,  projects  of  universal 
fraternity,  plans  of  education ; and  now  I reap  a harvest 
of  passions  so  ferocious  that  they  would  overturn  the  whole 
framework  of  society,  of  intestine  wars  capable  of  depopula- 
ting the  world,  and  of  manners  so  barbarous  that  they 
would  roll  back  the  civilization  of  ten  centuries  ! Oh,  I 
am  a great  criminal ! ” 

He  read  once  more  a page  of  his  “ Savoyard  Vicar.” 
“ Yes,  that  is  it ! 6 Let  us  unite  to  form  plans  for  our  hap- 
piness/ I have  written  it ! c Let  us  give  our  virtues  the 
force  which  others  give  to  their  vices/  I have  written 
that  also.”  And  Rousseau  became  still  more  agitated  and 
unhappy  than  before. 

“ Thus,  by  my  fault,”  said  he,  “ brothers  are  united  to 
brothers,  and  one  day  or  other  some  of  these  concealed 
places  of  meeting  will  be  invaded  by  the  police ; the  whole 
nest  of  these  men,  who  have  sworn  to  eat  one  another  in 
case  of  treachery,  will  be  arrested,  and  one  bolder  than 
the  others  will  take  my  book  from  his  pocket  and  will  say  : 
‘What  do  you  complain  of1?  We  are  disciples  of  Mon- 
sieur Rousseau  ; we  are  going  through  a course  of  philos- 
ophy'?’ Oh,  how  Voltaire  will  laugh  at  that ! There  is 
no  fear  of  that  courtier’s  ever  getting  into  such  a wasps’ 
nest ! ” The  idea  that  Voltaire  would  ridicule  him,  put 
the  Genevese  philosopher  into  a violent  rage.  “Ia  con- 
spirator ! ” he  muttered ; “ I must  be  in  my  dotage,  cer- 
tainly ! Am  I not,  in  truth,  a fine  conspirator  ? ” 

He  was  at  this  point  when  Therese  entered  with  the 


THE  MAN  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


85 


breakfast ; but  he  did  not  see  her.  She  perceived  that  he 
was  attentively  reading  a passage  in  the  “ Reveries  d’un 
Solitaire.”  “ Very  good,”  said  she,  placing  the  hot  milk 
noisily  upon  the  very  book;  “my  peacock  is  looking 
at  himself  in  the  glass  ! Monsieur  reads  his  books  ! 
Monsieur  Rousseau  admires  himself ! ” 

“ Come,  Therese,”  said  the  philosopher,  “ patience,  — 
leave  me  ; I am  in  no  humor  for  laughing.” 

“ Oh,  yes,  it  is  magnificent,  is  it  not  1 ” said  she,  mock- 
ingly. “ You  are  delighted  with  yourself.  What  vanity 
authors  have  ! and  how  angry  they  are  to  see  it  in  us 
poor  women!  If  I happen  only  to  look  in  my  little 
mirror,  Monsieur  grumbles,  and  calls  me  a coquette.” 
She  proceeded  in  this  strain,  making  him  the  most  un- 
happy man  in  the  world,  as  if  Rousseau  had  not  been  richly 
enough  endowed  by  nature  in  this  respect.  He  drank  his 
milk  without  moistening  his  bread.  He  reflected. 

“Very  good,”  said  she ; “there  you  are,  thinking  again. 
You  are  going  to  write  another  book  full  of  horrible  things.” 
Rousseau  shuddered. 

“ You  dream,”  continued  Therese,  “ of  your  ideal 
women,  and  you  write  books  which  young  girls  ought 
not  to  read,  or  else  profane  works  which  ought  to  be 
burned  by  the  hands  of  the  common  executioner.” 

The  martyr  shuddered  again.  Therese  had  touched 
him  to  the  quick.  “No,”  he  replied;  “I  will  write 
nothing  more  which  can  cause  an  evil  thought.  On  the 
contrary,  I wish  to  write  a book  which  all  honest  people 
will  read  with  transports  of  joy.” 

“ Oh,  oh  ! ” said  Therese,  taking  away  the  cup,  “ that 
is  impossible ; your  mind  is  full  of  obscene  thoughts. 
Only  the  other  day  I heard  you  read  some  passage  oi 
other,  and  in  it  you  spoke  of  women  whom  you  adored. 
You  are  a satyr ; a magus ! ” 


86 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


This  word  “ magus”  was  one  of  the  most  abusive  in 
Therese*s  vocabulary ; it  always  made  Rousseau  shudder. 
“ There,  there  now  ! ” said  he  ; “ my  dear  woman,  you 
will  find  that  you  will  be  satisfied.  I intend  to  write 
that  I have  found  the  means  of  regenerating  the  world 
without  causing  pain  to  a single  individual  by  the 
changes  which  will  be  effected.  Yes,  yes  ; I will  mature 
this  project.  No  revolutions  ! Great  heavens  ! my  good 
Therese,  no  revolutions  ! ” 

“Well,  we  shall  see,”  said  the  housekeeper.  “Stay! 
some  one  rings.” 

Therese  went  out,  and  returned  almost  immediately  with 
a handsome  young  man,  whom  she  requested  to  wait  in 
the  outer  apartment.  Then  rejoining  Rousseau,  who  was 
already  taking  notes  with  his  pencil,  “ Be  quick,”  said  she, 
“ and  lock  up  all  these  infamous  things.  There  is  some 
one  who  wishes  to  see  you.” 

“ Who  is  it  ? ” 

“ A nobleman  of  the  court.” 

“ Did  he  not  tell  you  his  name  1 ” 

“ A good  idea  ! as  if  I would  receive  a stranger ! 99 
“ Tell  it  me,  then.” 

“ Monsieur  de  Coigny.” 

“ Monsieur  de  Coigny  ! ” exclaimed  Rousseau  ; “ Mon- 
sieur de  Coigny,  gentleman-in-waiting  to  the  dauphin  'l  ” 

. “It  must  be  the  same ; a charming  youth,  a most 
amiable  young  man.” 

“ I will  go,  Therese.” 

Rousseau  gave  a glance  at  himself  in  the  mirror,  dusted 
his  coat,  wiped  his  slippers,  which  were  only  old  shoes 
trodden  down  in  the  heels  by  long  wear,  and  entered  the 
dining-room,  where  the  gentleman  was  waiting.  The 
latter  had  not  sat  down.  He  was  looking,  with  a sort  of 
curiosity,  at  the  dried  plants  pasted  by  Rousseau  upon 


THE  MAN  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


87 


paper,  and  enclosed  in  frames  of  black  wood.  At  the 
noise  Rousseau  made  in  entering,  he  turned,  and  bowing 
most  courteously,  “ Have  I the  honor,”  said  he,  “ of 
speaking  to  Monsieur  Rousseau?” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur,”  replied  the  philosopher,  in  a morose 
voice,  not  unmingled,  however,  with  a kind  of  admiration 
for  the  remarkable  beauty  and  unaffected  elegance  of  the 
person  before  him. 

Monsieur  de  Coigny  was,  in  fact,  one  of  the  handsomest 
and  most  accomplished  gentlemen  in  France.  It  must 
have  been  for  him,  and  such  as  he,  that  the  costume  of 
that  period  was  invented.  It  displayed  to  the  greatest 
advantage  the  symmetry  and  beauty  of  his  well-turned  leg, 
his  broad  shoulders,  and  deep  chest ; it  gave  a majestic 
air  to  his  exquisitely  formed  head,  and  added  to  the  ivory 
whiteness  of  his  aristocratic  hands. 

His  examination  satisfied  Rousseau,  who,  like  a true 
artist,  admired  the  beautiful  wherever  he  met  with  it. 

“ Monsieur,”  said  he,  “ what  can  I do  for  you  ? ” 

“ You  have  been  perhaps  informed,  Monsieur,”  replied 
the  young  nobleman,  “ that  I am  the  Comte  de  Coigny. 
I may  add  that  I come  from  her  Royal  Highness  the 
Dauphiness.” 

Rousseau  reddened  and  bowed.  Ther^se,  who  was 
standing  in  a corner  of  the  dining-room,  with  her  hands 
in  her  pockets,  gazed  with  complacent  eyes  at  the  hand- 
some messenger  of  the  greatest  princess  in  France. 

“ Her  Royal  Highness  sends  to  me ! For  what  pur- 
pose ? ” asked  Rousseau.  “ But  take  a chair,  if  you  please, 
Monsieur.” 

Rousseau  sat  down,  and  Monsieur  de  Coigny  drew  for- 
ward a straw-bottomed  chair  and  followed  his  example. 

“ Monsieur,  here  is  the  fact.  The  other  day,  when  his 
Majesty  dined  at  Trianon,  he  expressed  a good  deal  of 


88 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


* 

admiration  for  your  music,  which  is  indeed  charming. 
His  Majesty  sang  your  prettiest  airs,  and  the  dauphiness, 
who  is  always  anxious  to  please  his  Majesty  in  every 
respect,  thought  that  it  might  give  him  pleasure  to  see 
one  of  your  comic  operas  performed  in  the  theatre  at 
Trianon.” 

Rousseau  bowed  low. 

“I  come,  therefore,  to  ask  you,  from  the  dauphiness  — ” 

“ Oh,  Monsieur ! ” interrupted  Rousseau,  “ my  permission 
has  nothing  to  do  in  the  matter.  My  pieces,  and  the  airs 
belonging  to  them,  are  the  property  of  the  theatre  where 
they  are  represented.  The  permission  must  therefore  be 
sought  from  the  comedians,  and  her  Royal  Highness  will, 
I am  assured,  find  no  obstacles  in  that  quarter.  The 
actors  will  be  too  happy  to  play  and  sing  before  his 
Majesty  and  the  court.” 

“ That  is  not  precisely  what  I am  commissioned  to  re- 
quest, Monsieur,”  said  Monsieur  de  Coigny.  “ Her  Royal 
Highness  the  Dauphiness  wishes  to  give  a more  complete 
and  more  recherche  entertainment  to  his  Majesty.  She 
knows  all  your  operas,  Monsieur.” 

Another  bow  from  Rousseau. 

“ And  sings  them  charmingly.” 

Rousseau  bit  his  lips.  “ It  is  too  much  honor,  Mon- 
sieur,” he  stammered. 

“ Now,”  pursued  Monsieur  de  Coigny,  “as  several 
ladies  of  the  court  are  excellent  musicians  and  sing  de- 
lightfully, and  as  several  gentlemen  also  have  studied 
music  with  some  success,  whichever  of  your  operas  the 
dauphiness  may  choose  will  be  performed  by  this  company 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  the  principal  actors  being  their 
Royal  Highnesses.” 

Rousseau  bounded  in  his  chair.  “ I assure  you, 
Monsieur,”  said  he,  “that  this  is  a signal  honor  conferred 


THE  MAN  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


89 


upon  me,  and  I beg  you  will  offer  my  most  humble  thanks 
to  the  dauphiness.” 

“ Oh  I that  is  not  all,”  said  Monsieur  de  Coigny,  with  a 
smile. 

“ Ah!” 

“The  troupe  thus  composed  is  more  illustrious,  cer- 
tainly, than  that  usually  employed,  but  also  more  in- 
experienced. The  superintendence  and  the  advice  of  a 
master  are  therefore  indispensable.  The  performance 
ought  to  be  worthy  of  the  august  spectator  who  will  oc- 
cupy  the  royal  box,  and  also  of  the  illustrious  author.” 

Rousseau  rose  to  bow  again.  This  time  the  compliment 
had  touched  him,  and  he  saluted  Monsieur  de  Coigny 
most  graciously. 

“ For  this  purpose,  Monsieur,”  continued  the  gentleman- 
in-waiting,  “ her  Royal  Highness  requests  your  company 
at  Trianon,  to  superintend  the  general  rehearsal  of  the 
work.” 

“ Oh  ! ” said  Rousseau,  “ her  Royal  Highness  cannot 
surely  think  of  such  a thing.  I at  Trianon  % ” 

“Well?”  said  Monsieur  de  Coigny,  with  the  most  natu- 
ral air  possible. 

“ Oh  ! Monsieur,  you  are  a man  of  taste  and  judgment ; 
you  have  more  tact  than  the  majority  of  men  : answer  me, 
on  your  conscience,  is  not  the  idea  of  Rousseau,  the  phi- 
losopher, the  outlaw,  the  misanthrope,  attending  at  court, 
enough  to  make  the  whole  cabal  split  their  sides  with 
laughter  ? ” 

“ I do  not  see,”  replied  Monsieur  de  Coigny,  coldly, 
“how  the  laughter  and  the  remarks  of  that  foolish  set 
which  persecutes  you  should  disturb  the  repose  of  a gallant 
man,  and  an  author  who  may  lay  claim  to  be  the  first  in 
the  kingdom.  If  you  have  this  weakness,  Monsieur  Rous- 
seau, conceal  it  carefully ; it  alone  would  be  sufficient  ter 


90 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


raise  a laugh  at  your  expense.  As  to  what  remarks  may 
be  made,  you  will  confess  that  they  may  be  modified  by 
the  fact  that  the  pleasure  and  the  wishes  of  her  Royal 
Highness  the  Dauphiness,  presumptive  heiress  of  the 
French  kingdom,  are  in  question.” 

“ Certainly,”  said  Rousseau,  “ certainly.” 

“ Can  it  be,  possibly,  a lingering  feeling  of  false 
shame  ? 99  said  Monsieur  de  Coigny,  smiling.  “ Because 
you  have  been  severe  upon  kings,  do  you  fear  to  humanize 
yourself  1 Ah  ! Monsieur  Rousseau,  you  have  given  valu- 
able lessons  to  the  human  race,  but  I hope  you  do  not 
hate  them.  And,  besides,  you  certainly  except  the  ladies 
of  the  blood  royal.” 

“ Monsieur,  you  are  very  kind  to  press  me  so  much ; 
but  think  of  my  position,  — I live  retired,  alone,  unhappy.” 
Therese  made  a grimace.  “ Unhappy  ! 99  said  she  ; “ he 
is  hard  to  please  ! ” 

“ Whatever  effort  I may  make,  there  will  always  be 
something  in  my  features  and  manner  unpleasing  to  the 
eyes  of  the  king  and  the  princesses,  who  seek  only  jo] 
and  happiness.  What  should  I do  there ; what  should 
I say  1 ” 

“ One  might  suspect  that  you  distrust  yourself  ! But, 
Monsieur,  do  you  not  think  that  he  who  has  written  the 
i Nouvelle  Heloise 9 and  the  ‘ Confessions 9 must  have  more 
talent  for  speaking  and  acting  than  all  of  us  others  put 
together,  no  matter  what  position  we  occupy  1 99 
“ I assure  you,  Monsieur,  it  is  impossible.” 

“ That  word,  Monsieur,  is  not  known  to  princes.” 

“ And  for  that  very  reason,  Monsieur,  I shall  remain  at 
home.” 

“ Monsieur,  you  will  not  inflict  on  me  — the  rash  mes* 
senger  who  undertook  to  give  satisfaction  to  Madame  the 
Dauphiness  — the  mortal  injury  of  obliging  me  to  return 


THE  MAN  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


91 


to  Versailles  vanquished  and  ashamed  ? It  would  be  such 
a blow  to  me  that  I should  immediately  retire  into  exile. 
Come,  my  dear  Monsieur  Rousseau,  grant  to  me,  a man 
full  of  the  deepest  sympathy  for  your  wTorks,  this  favor,  — 
a favor  which  you  would  refuse  to  supplicating  kings.” 

“ Monsieur,  your  kindness  gains  my  heart,  your  elo- 
quence is  irresistible,  and  your  voice  moves  me  more  than 
I can  tell  you.” 

“ Will  you  allow  yourself  to  be  persuaded  1 ” 

“No,  I cannot, — no,  decidedly;  my  health  forbids 
such  a journey.” 

“A  journey  ! Oh  ! Monsieur  Rousseau,  what  are  you 
thinking  of]  An  hour  and  a quarter  in  a carriage  ! ” 

“ Yes,  for  you  and  your  prancing  horses.” 

“ But  all  the  equipages  of  the  court  are  at  your  disposal, 
Monsieur  Rousseau.  The  dauphiness  charged  me  to  tell 
you  that  there  is  an  apartment  prepared  for  you  at  Tria- 
non ; for  she  is  unwilling  that  you  should  have  to  return 
so  late  to  Paris.  The  dauphin,  who  knows  all  your  works 
by  heart,  said,  before  the  whole  court,  that  he  would  be 
proud  to  show  the  room  in  his  palace  where  Monsieur 
Rousseau  had  slept.” 

Therese  uttered  a cry  of  admiration,  not  for  Rousseau, 
but  for  the  good  prince. 

Rousseau  could  not  withstand  this  last  mark  of  good- 
will. “ I must  surrender,”  said  he,  “ for  never  have  I 
been  so  well  attacked.” 

“ Your  heart  only  is  vanquished,  Monsieur,”  replied  De 
Coigny  ; your  mind  is  impregnable.” 

“ I will  go  then,  Monsieur,  in  obedience  to  the  wishes  of 
her  Royal  Highness.” 

“ Oh,  Monsieur,  receive  my  personal  thanks ! As  re- 
gards the  dauphiness’s,  permit  me  to  abstain.  She  would 
feel  annoyed  at  being  forestalled,  as  she  means  to  pay 


92 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


them  to  you  in  person  this  evening.  Besides,  you  know, 
it  is  the  man’s  part  to  thank  a young  and  adorable  lady 
who  is  good  enough  to  make  advances  to  him.” 

“ True,  Monsieur,”  replied  Rousseau,  smiling ; “ but 
old  men  have  the  privilege  of  pretty  women,  — they  are 
sought  after.” 

“ If  you  will  name  your  hour,  Monsieur  Rousseau,  I 
will  send  my  carriage  for  you ; or  rather,  I will  come  for 
you  myself.” 

“ No,  thank  you,  Monsieur.  I must  positively  refuse 
your  kind  offer.  I will  go  to  Trianon,  but  let  me  go 
freely,  in  my  own  way.  From  this  moment  leave  me  to 
myself.  I shall  come,  that  is  all.  Tell  me  the  hour.” 

“ What,  Monsieur ! you  will  not  allow  me  to  introduce 
you  ? I know  I am  not  worthy  of  the  honor,  and  that  a 
name  like  yours  needs  no  announcement.” 

“ Monsieur,  I am  aware  that  at  court  you  are  more  than 
I am  anywhere  in  the  world.  I do  not  refuse  your  offer, 
therefore,  from  any  motives  personal  to  yourself,  but  I 
love  my  liberty.  I wish  to  go  as  if  I were  merely  taking 
a walk,  and  — in  short,  that  is  my  ultimatum.” 

“ Monsieur,  I bow  to  your  decision,  and  should  be  most 
unwilling  to  displease  you  in  any  particular.  The  rehear- 
sal begins  at  six  o’clock.” 

“ Very  well.  At  a quarter  before  six  I shall  be  at 
Trianon.” 

“ But  by  what  conveyance  ? ” 

“ That  is  my  affair,  — these  are  my  horses.”  He  pointed 
to  his  legs,  which  were  still  well  formed,  and  clad  with 
some  pretension. 

“ Five  leagues  ! ” said  Monsieur  de  Coigny,  alarmed ; 
,;c  you  will  be  exhausted.  Take  care,  — it  will  be  a fati- 
guing evening  ! ” 

“ In  that  case  I have  my  carriage  and  my  horses  also, 


THE  MAN  AND  HIS  WORKS, 


93 


— a fraternal  carriage,  the  popular  vehicle,  which  belongs 
to  my  neighbor  as  well  as  to  myself,  and  which  costs  only 
fifteen  sous.” 

a Oh,  good  heavens ! The  omnibus  ! You  make  me 
shudder  ! ” 

“ Its  benches,  which  seem  to  you  so  hard,  are  to  me 
like  the  Sybarite’s  couch.  To  me  they  seem  stuffed  with 
down,  or  with  rose-leaves.  Adieu,  Monsieur,  till  this 
evening  ! ” 

Monsieur  de  Coigny,  seeing  himself  thus  dismissed,  took 
his  leave  after  a multitude  of  thanks,  instructions  more  or 
less  precise,  and  repeated  offers  of  service.  He  descended 
the  dark  staircase,  accompanied  by  Rousseau  to  the  land- 
ing, and  by  Therese  half-way  down  the  stairs.  He  entered 
his  carriage,  which  was  waiting  in  the  street,  and  drove 
back  to  Versailles,  smiling  to  himself. 

Therese  returned  to  the  apartment,  slamming  the  door 
with  angry  violence,  which  foretold  a storm  for  Rousseau. 


94 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Rousseau’s  toilet. 

When  Monsieur  de  Coigny  was  gone,  Rousseau,  whose 
ideas  this  visit  had  entirely  changed,  threw  himself  into 
a little  armchair,  with  a deep  sigh,  and  said  in  a sleepy 
tone  : “ Oh,  how  tiresome  this  is ! How  these  people 
weary  me  with  their  persecutions  ! 99 

Therese  caught  the  last  words  as  she  entered,  and 
placing  herself  before  Rousseau,  “ How  proud  we  are  ! 99 
said  she. 

“IV9  asked  Rousseau,  surprised. 

“ Yes ; you  are  a vain  fellow,  — a hypocrite  ! 99 

“IV9 

tl  Yes,  you ; you  are  enchanted  to  go  to  court,  and  you 
conceal  your  joy  under  this  pretended  indifference.” 

“ Oh,  good  heavens  ! ” replied  Rousseau,  shrugging  his 
shoulders,  and  humiliated  at  being  so  truly  described. 

“ Do  you  not  wish  to  make  me  believe  that  it  is  not 
a great  honor  for  you  to  perform  for  the  king  the  airs 
which  you  thump  here  upon  your  spinet,  idler  that 
you  are1?” 

Rousseau  looked  angrily  at  his  wife.  “ You  are  a sim- 
pleton,” said  he ; “ it  is  no  honor  for  a man  such  as  I am 
to  appear  before  a king.  To  what  is  this  man  indebted 
that  he  is  on  the  throne  ‘l  To  a caprice  of  nature,  which 
gave  him  a queen  as  his  mother;  but  I am  worthy  of 
being  called  before  the  king  to  minister  to  his  recreation. 


ROUSSEAU’S  TOILET. 


95 


It  is  to  my  labor  I owe  it,  and  to  the  fame  acquired  by 
my  labor.” 

Therese  was  not  a woman  to  be  so  easily  conquered. 
“ I wish  Monsieur  de  Sartines  heard  you  talking  in  this 
style ; he  would  give  you  a lodging  in  Bicetre,  or  a cell  at 
Charenton.” 

“ Because  this  Monsieur  de  Sartines  is  a tyrant  in  the 
pay  of  another  tyrant,  and  because  man  is  defenceless 
against  tyrants  with  the  aid  of  his  genius  alone.  But  if 
Monsieur  de  Sartines  were  to  persecute  me  — ” 

“ Well,  what  then  ] ” asked  Therese. 

“ Ah,  yes  ! ” sighed  Rousseau ; “ yes,  I know  that  would 
delight  my  enemies  ! ” 

“ Why  have  you  enemies  1 ” continued  Therese.  “ Be- 
cause you  are  ill-natured,  and  because  you  have  attacked 
every  one.  Ah,  Monsieur  de  Voltaire  knows  how  to 
make  friends,  he  does  ! ” 

“ True  ! ” said  Rousseau,  with  an  angelic  smile. 

“ But  Monsieur  de  Voltaire  is  a gentleman;  he  is  the 
intimate  friend  of  the  king  of  Prussia  ; he  has  horses,  he  is 
rich,  and  lives  in  his  chateau  at  Ferney.  And  all  that  he 
owes  to  his  merit.  Therefore,  when  he  goes  to  court,  he 
does  not  act  the  disdainful  man,  he  is  quite  at  home  there.” 

“ And  do  you  think,”  said  Rousseau,  “ that  I shall  not 
be  at  home  there  h Think  you  that  I do  not  know  where 
all  the  money  that  is  spent  there  comes  from,  or  that  I am 
duped  by  the  respect  which  is  paid  to  the  master  h Oh ! 
my  good  woman,  who  judgest  everything  falsely,  remem- 
ber, if  I am  disdainful,  it  is  because  I really  feel  contempt ; 
remember  that  if  I despise  the  pomp  of  these  courtiers,  it 
is  because  they  have  stolen  their  riches  ! 99 

“ Stolen  ! 99  said  Therese,  with  inexpressible  indignation. 

“Yes,  stolen,  — from  you,  from  me,  from  every  one. 
All  the  gold  they  have  upon  their  fine  clothes  should  be 


96 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


restored  to  the  unhappy  ones  who  want  bread.  That 
is  the  reason  why  I,  who  know  all  these  things,  go  so 
reluctantly  to  court.” 

“ I do  not  say  that  the  people  are  happy ; but  the  king 
is  always  the  king.” 

“ Well,  I obey  him  ; what  more  does  he  want  ? ” 

“ Ah,  you  obey  because  you  are  afraid  ! You  must  not 
say  in  my  hearing  that  you  go  against  your  will,  or  that 
you  are  a brave  man  ; for  if  so,  I shall  reply  that  you  are 
a hypocrite,  and  that  you  are  very  glad  to  go.” 

“ I do  not  fear  anything  ! ” said  Eousseau,  superbly. 

“ Good  ! Just  go  and  say  to  the  king  one  quarter  of 
what  you  have  been  telling  me  the  last  half-hour.” 

“ I shall  assuredly  do  so,  if  my  feelings  prompt 
me.” 

“ You!” 

“ Yes.  Have  I ever  recoiled  ? ” 

“ Bah  ! You  dare  not  take  a bone  from  a cat  when  she 
is  gnawing  it,  for  fear  she  should  scratch  you ! What 
would  you  be  if  surrounded  by  guards  and  swordsmen  ? 
Look  you,  I know  you  as  well  as  if  I were  your  mother. 
You  will  just  now  go  and  shave  yourself  afresh,  oil  your 
hair,  and  make  yourself  beautiful ; you  will  display  your 
leg  to  the  utmost  advantage ; you  will  put  on  your  inter- 
esting little  winking  expression,  because  your  eyes  are 
small  and  round,  and  if  you  opened  them  naturally,  that 
would  be  seen,  while  when  you  wink,  you  make  people 
believe  that  they  are  as  large  as  carriage  entrances.  You 
will  ask  me  for  your  silk  stockings,  you  will  put  on  your 
chocolate-colored  coat  with  steel  buttons,  and  your  beau- 
tiful new  wig ; you  will  order  a coach,  and  my  philoso- 
pher will  go  and  be  adored  by  the  ladies  ! And  to- 
morrow — ah,  to-morrow  ! — there  will  be  such  ecstatic 
reveries,  such  interesting  languor ! You  will  have  come 


ROUSSEAU’S  TOILET. 


97 


back  amorous ; you  will  sigh  and  write  verses,  and  you 
will  dilute  your  coffee  with  your  tears.  Oh,  how  well  I 
know  you ! ” 

“ You  are  wrong,  my  dear,”  said  Rousseau.  “ I tell  you 
I am  reluctantly  obliged  to  go  to  court.  I go  because, 
after  all,  I fear  to  cause  scandal,  as  every  honest  citizen 
should.  Moreover,  I am  not  one  of  those  who  refuse  to 
acknowledge  the  supremacy  of  one  citizen  in  a republic  ; 
but  as  to  making  advances,  as  to  brushing  my  new  coat 
against  the  gold  spangles  of  these  gentlemen  of  the  (Eil- 
de-Boeuf,  — no,  no  ! I shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort ; and 
if  you  catch  me  doing  so,  laugh  at  me  as  much  as  you 
please.” 

“ Then  you  will  not  dress  ] ” said  Therese,  sarcastically. 

“No.”  * 

“ You  will  not  put  on  your  new  wig]” 

“ No.” 

“ You  will  not  wink  with  your  little  eyes] 99 

“ I tell  you  I will  go  like  a free  man,  without  affectation 
and  without  fear.  I will  go  to  court  as  if  I were  going  to 
the  theatre  5 and  let  the  actors  like  me  or  not,  I care  not 
for  them.” 

“ Oh  ! you  will  at  least  trim  your  beard,”  said  Therese  ; 
“it  is  half  a foot  long  ! ” 

“ I tell  you  I shall  make  no  change.” 

Therese  burst  into  so  loud  and  prolonged  a laugh  that 
Rousseau  was  obliged  to  take  refuge  in  the  next  room. 
But  the  housekeeper  had  not  finished  her  persecutions  ; 
she  had  them  of  all  colors  and  kinds.  She  opened  the 
closet  and  took  out  his  best  coat,  his  clean  linen,  and 
beautifully  polished  shoes.  She  spread  all  these  articles 
out  upon  the  bed  and  over  the  chairs  in  the  apartment ; 
but  Rousseau  did  not  seem  to  pay  the  least  attention. 

At  last  Therese  said  : “ Come,  it  is  time  for  you  to  dress. 
vol.  in.  — 7 


98 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


A court  toilet  is  no  small  matter.  You  will  have  barely 
time  to  reach  Versailles  at  the  appointed  hour.” 

“ I have  told  you,  Therese,  that  I shall  do  very  well  as 
I am.  It  is  the  same  dress  in  which  I present  myself 
every  day  among  my  fellow-citizens.  A king  is  but  a 
citizen  like  myself.” 

" Come,  come  !”  said  Therese,  trying  to  tempt  him  and 
bring  him  to  her  purpose  by  artful  insinuation  ; “do  not 
pout,  Jacques,  and  don’t  be  foolish.  Here  are  your 
clothes.  Your  razor  is  ready ; I have  sent  for  the  bar- 
ber, in  case  your  nerves  to-day  — ” 

“ Thank  you,  my  dear,”  replied  Rousseau ; “I  will  just 
give  myself  a brush,  and  I will  take  my  shoes,  because  I 
cannot  go  out  in  slippers.” 

“ Is  he  going  to  be  firm,  I wonder  ? 99  thought 

Therese. 

She  tried  to  coax  him,  sometimes  by  coquetry,  some- 
times by  persuasion,  and  sometimes  by  the  violence  of  her 
raillery.  But  Rousseau  knew  her,  and  saw  the  snare. 
He  knew  that  the  moment  he  should  give  way,  he  would 
be  unmercifully  disgraced  and  ridiculed  by  his  better-half. 
He  determined,  therefore,  not  to  give  way,  and  abstained 
from  looking  at  the  fine  clothes,  which  would  set  off  what 
he  termed  his  natural  advantages. 

Therese  watched  him.  She  had  only  one  resource  left, 
— this  was  the  glance  which  Rousseau  never  failed  to  give 
in  the  glass  before  he  went  out ; for  the  philosopher  was 
neat  to  excess,  if  there  can  be  excess  in  neatness. 

But  Rousseau  continued  to  be  on  his  guard ; and  as  he 
had  caught  Therese’s  watchful  look,  he  turned  his  back  to 
the  looking-glass.  The  hour  arrived  ; the  philosopher  had 
filled  his  head  with  all  the  disagreeable  remarks  he  could 
think  of  to  say  to  the  king.  He  repeated  some  scraps  of 
them  to  himself  while  he  buckled  his  shoes,  then  tucked 


ROUSSEAU’S  TOILET. 


99 


his  hat  under  his  arm,  seized  his  cane,  and  taking  advan- 
tage of  a moment  when  Therese  could  not  see  him,  he 
pulled  down  his  coat  and  his  waistcoat  with  both  hands,  to 
smooth  the  creases. 

Th6r&se  now  returned,  handed  him  a handkerchief, 
which  he  plunged  into  his  huge  pocket,  and  then  accom- 
panied him  to  the  landing-place,  saying  : “Come,  Jacques, 
be  reasonable ; you  look  quite  frightful,  — you  have  the  air 
of  a counterfeiter.” 

“ Adieu  ! ” said  Rousseau. 

“ You  look  like  a thief,  Monsieur,”  said  Ther&se ; “ take 
care  ! ” 

“ Take  care  of  fire,”  said  Rousseau,  “ and  do  not  touch 
my  papers.” 

“ You  have  just  the  air  of  a spy,  I assure  you ! ” said 
Therese,  in  despair. 

Rousseau  made  no  reply ; he  descended  the  steps  sing- 
ing, and  favored  by  the  obscurity,  he  gave  his  hat  a brush 
with  his  sleeve,  smoothed  his  shirt-frill  with  his  left  hand, 
and  touched  up  his  toilet  with  a rapid  but  skilful 
movement. 

Arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  he  boldly  stepped  into 
the  mud  of  the  Rue  Plastriere,  but  walking  on  tiptoe,  and 
reached  the  Champs-Elysees,  where  those  honest  vehicles 
which  for  the  sake  of  exactness  we  will  call  pataches  were 
stationed,  and  which,  so  late  as  ten  years  ago,  still  carried, 
or  rather  bundled,  from  Paris  to  Versailles  those  travellers 
who  were  obliged  to  use  economy. 


100 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  SIDE-SCENES  OF  TRIANON. 

The  adventures  of  Rousseau’s  journey  are  of  no  importance. 
A Swiss,  an  assistant-clerk,  a citizen,  and  an  abbe  were  of 
course  among  his  travelling  companions. 

He  arrived  at  half-past  five.  The  court  was  already 
assembled  at  Trianon,  and  the  performers  were  going 
over  their  parts  while  waiting  for  the  king ; as  to  the 
author,  no  one  thought  of  him.  Some  were  aware  that 
Monsieur  Rousseau,  of  Geneva,  was  to  come  to  direct  the 
rehearsal ; but  they  took  no  greater  interest  in  seeing  Mon- 
sieur Rousseau  than  they  would  in  seeing  Monsieur  Rameau, 
or  Monsieur  Marmontel,  or  any  other  of  those  singular 
animals,  to  a sight  of  which  the  courtiers  sometimes  treated 
themselves  in  their  drawing-rooms  or  country  houses. 

Rousseau  was  received  by  the  usher-in-waiting,  who  had 
been  ordered  by  Monsieur  de  Coigny  to  inform  him  as 
soon  as  the  philosopher  should  arrive.  This  young  noble- 
man hastened  with  his  usual  courtesy,  and  received  Rous- 
seau  with  most  amiable  greetings.  But  as  soon  as  he  had 
taken  a comprehensive  view  of  Rousseau’s  person,  he  began 
to  stare  at  him  with  astonishment ; and  he  could  not 
refrain  from  repeating  the  examination. 

Rousseau  was  dusty,  pale,  and  dishevelled,  and  his  pale- 
ness rendered  conspicuous  such  a beard  as  no  master  of 
the  ceremonies  had  ever  seen  reflected  in  the  mirrors  of 
Versailles. 


THE  SIDE-SCENES  OF  TRIANON. 


101 


Bousseau  felt  deeply  embarrassed  under  Monsieur  de 
Coigny’s  scrutiny,  but  more  embarrassed  still  when,  ap- 
proaching the  hall  of  the  theatre,  he  saw  the  profusion  of 
splendid  dresses,  valuable  lace,  diamonds,  and  blue  rib- 
bons, which,  with  the  gilding  of  the  hall,  produced  the 
effect  of  a bouquet  of  flowers  in  an  immense  basket. 

Bousseau  felt  ill  at  ease  also  when  he  had  breathed  this 
perfumed  atmosphere,  so  intoxicating  to  plebeian  nerves. 
Yet  he  was  obliged  to  proceed  and  put  a bold  face  on  the 
matter.  Multitudes  of  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  who 
thus  formed  a stain,  as  it  were,  on  the  polish  of  the  as- 
sembly. Monsieur  de  Coigny,  still  preceding  him,  led 
him  to  the  orchestra,  where  the  musicians  were  awaiting 
him.  When  there,  he  felt  rather  relieved,  and  while  his 
music  was  performed,  he  seriously  reflected  that  the  worst 
danger  was  past,  that  the  step  was  taken,  and  that  all  the 
reasoning  in  the  world  could  now  be  of  no  avail. 

Already  the  dauphiness  was  on  the  stage,  in  her  costume 
as  Colette  ; she  waited  for  Colin.  Monsieur  de  Coigny 
was  changing  his  dress  in  his  box.  Suddenly  the  king 
entered,  surrounded  by  a crowd  of  bending  heads.  Louis 
smiled,  and  seemed  to  be  in  the  best  humor  possible.  The 
dauphin  seated  himself  at  his  right  hand,  and  the  Comte 
de  Provence,  arriving  soon  after,  took  his  place  on  the  left. 
On  a sign  from  the  king,  the  fifty  persons  who  composed 
the  assembly,  private  as  it  was,  took  their  seats. 

“ Well,  why  do  you  not  begin  ? ” asked  Louis. 

“ Sire,”  said  the  dauphiness,  “ the  shepherds  and  shep- 
herdesses are  not  yet  dressed  ; we  are  waiting  for  them.” 

“ They  can  perform  in  their  usual  dresses,”  said  the 
king. 

“No,  Sire,”  replied  the  dauphiness;  “for  we  wish  to 
try  the  stage-dresses  and  costumes  by  candle-light,  to  be 
certain  of  the  effect.” 


102 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ You  are  right,  Madame,”  said  the  king  ; “ then  let  us 
take  a stroll ; ” and  Louis  rose,  to  make  the  circuit  of  the 
corridor  and  the  stage.  Besides,  he  was  rather  uneasy  at 
not  seeing  Madame  Dubarry. 

When  the  king  had  left  the  box,  Rousseau  contemplated 
in  a melancholy  mood  and  with  an  aching  heart  the  empty 
hall  and  his  own  solitary  position,  — it  was  a singular  con- 
trast to  the  reception  he  had  anticipated.  He  had  pic- 
tured to  himself  that  on  his  entrance  all  the  groups  would 
open  before  him ; that  the  curiosity  of  the  courtiers  would 
be  even  more  importunate  and  more  significant  than  that 
of  the  Parisians ; he  had  feared  questions  and  presenta- 
tions ; and  lo,  no  one  paid  any  attention  to  him  ! He 
thought  that  his  long  beard  was  not  yet  long  enough,  that 
rags  would  not  have  been  more  remarked  than  his  old 
clothes,  and  he  applauded  himself  for  not  having  been  so 
ridiculous  as  to  aim  at  elegance.  But  in  the  bottom  of  his 
heart  he  felt  humiliated  at  being  thus  reduced  to  the  sim- 
ple post  of  leader  of  the  orchestra.  Suddenly  an  officer 
approached,  and  asked  him  if  he  was  not  Monsieur 
Rousseau  1 

“Yes,  Monsieur,”  he  replied. 

" Her  Royal  Highness  the  Dauphiness  wishes  to  speak 
to  you,  Monsieur,”  said  the  officer. 

Rousseau  rose,  much  agitated. 

The  dauphiness  was  waiting  for  him.  She  held  in  her 
hand  the  air  of  Colette,  — 

“My  happiness  is  gone.” 

The  moment  she  saw  Rousseau  she  advanced  toward  him. 
The  philosopher  bowed  very  humbly,  saying  to  himself 
that  his  bow  was  for  the  woman,  not  for  the  princess. 

The  dauphiness,  on  the  contrary,  was  as  gracious  to  the 
savage  philosopher  as  she  would  have  been  to  the  most 


THE  SIDE-SCENES  OF  TRIANON. 


103 


finished  gentleman  in  Europe.  She  requested  his  advice 
about  the  inflection  she  ought  to  give  to  the  third 
line,  — 

**  Colin  leaves  me.  ” 

Rousseau  forthwith  began  to  develop  a theory  of  decla- 
mation and  melody,  which,  learned  as  it  was,  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  noisy  arrival  of  the  king  and  several 
courtiers. 

Louis  entered  the  room  in  which  the  dauphiness  was 
taking  her  lesson  from  the  philosopher.  The  first  impulse 
of  the  king  when  he  saw  this  carelessly  dressed  person 
was  the  same  that  Monsieur  de  Coigny  had  manifested  ; 
only  Monsieur  de  Coigny  knew  Rousseau,  and  the  king  did 
not.  He  stared,  therefore,  long  and  steadily  at  our  free- 
man while  still  receiving  the  thanks  and  compliments  of 
the  dauphiness.  This  look,  stamped  with  royal  authority ; 
this  look,  not  accustomed  to  be  lowered  before  any  one,  — 
produced  a powerful  effect  upon  Rousseau,  whose  quick 
eye  was  timid  and  unsteady. 

The  dauphiness  waited  until  the  king  had  finished  his 
scrutiny  ; then,  advancing  toward  Rousseau,  she  said, 
“ Will  your  Majesty  allow  me  to  present  our  author  to 
youT 

“Your  author V9  said  the  king,  affecting  to  search  his 
memory. 

During  this  short  dialogue  Rousseau  was  upon  burning 
coals.  The  king’s  eye  had  successively  rested  upon  and 
burned  — like  the  sun’s  rays  under  a powerful  lens  — the 
long  beard,  the  dubious  shirt-frill,  the  dusty  garb,  and  the 
old  wig  of  the  greatest  writer  in  his  kingdom. 

The  dauphiness  took  pity  on  Rousseau.  “Monsieur 
Jean  Jacques  Rousseau,  Sire,”  said  she,  “the  author  of 
the  charming  opera  we  are  going  to  execute  before  your 
Majesty.” 


104 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


The  king  raised  his  head.  u Ah  ! ” said  he,  coldly, 
“ Monsieur  Rousseau,  I greet  you.”  And  he  continued  to 
look  at  him  in  such  a manner  as  to  point  out  all  the 
imperfections  of  his  dress. 

Rousseau  asked  himself  how  he  ought  to  salute  the  king 
of  France,  without  being  a courtier,  but  also  without  im- 
politeness, for  he  admitted  that  he  was  in  that  prince’s 
house.  But  while  he  was  making  these  reflections,  the 
king  addressed  him  with  that  graceful  ease  of  princes  who 
have  said  everything  when  they  have  uttered  an  agreeable 
or  a disagreeable  remark  to  the  person  before  them. 
Rousseau,  petrified,  had  at  first  stood  speechless.  All  the 
phrases  he  had  prepared  for  the  tyrant  were  forgotten. 

“ Monsieur  Rousseau/5  said  the  king,  still  looking  at  his 
coat  and  wig,  “ you  have  composed  some  charming  music, 
which  has  caused  me  to  pass  very  pleasant  moments.” 

Then  the  king,  in  a voice  which  was  diametrically  op- 
posed to  all  harmony  and  melody,  began  singing,  — 

“ * Had  I turned  a willing  ear, 

The  gallants  of  the  town  to  hear, 

Ah  ! I had  found  with  ease 
Other  lovers  then  to  please.* 

“ It  is  charming  ! ” said  the  king,  when  he  had  finished. 

Rousseau  bowed. 

“ I do  not  know  if  I shall  sing  it  well,”  said  the 
dauphiness. 

Rousseau  turned  toward  the  dauphiness  to  make  some 
remark  in  reply ; but  the  king  had  begun  again,  and  was 
singing  the  romance  of  Colin  : — 

“ * From  my  hut,  obscure  and  cold, 

Care  is  absent  never  ; 

Whether  storm,  or  sun,  or  cold, 

Suffering,  toil,  forever.*  ’* 


THE  SIDE-SCENES  OF  TRIANON. 


105 


His  Majesty's  singing  was  very  trying  to  a musician. 
Rousseau,  half  flattered  by  the  monarch’s  good  memory, 
half  wounded  by  his  detestable  execution,  looked  like  a 
monkey  nibbling  an  onion,  — crying  on  one  side  of  his 
face,  and  laughing  on  the  other.  The  dauphiness  pre- 
served her  composure  with  that  imperturbable  self-posses 
sion  which  is  found  only  at  court. 

The  king,  without  the  least  embarrassment,  continued : 

“ 4 If  thou  ’It  come  to  cast  thy  lot 
In  thy  Colin’s  humble  cot, 

My  sweet  shepherdess,  Colette. 

I ’ll  bid  adieu  to  all  regret.’  ” 

Rousseau  felt  the  color  rising  to  his  face. 

“ Tell  me,  Monsieur  Rousseau,”  said  the  king,  “ is  it 
true  that  you  sometimes  dress  in  the  costume  of  an 
Armenian  ] ” 

Rousseau  blushed  more  deeply  than  before,  and  his 
tongue  was  so  glued  to  his  throat  that  not  for  a kingdom 
could  he  have  pronounced  a word  at  this  moment. 

The  king  continued  to  sing,  without  waiting  for  a reply  : 

“ ‘ Ah  ! but  little,  as  times  go, 

Doth  love  know 

4 

What  he  ’d  let,  or  what  he ’d  hinder.' 

“You  live  in  the  Rue  Plastriere,  I believe,  Monsieur 
Rousseau  ? ” said  the  king. 

Rousseau  made  a gesture  in  the  affirmative  with  his 
head,  but  his  strength  could  go  no  farther.  Never  had 
he  summoned  to  his  support  so  much  of  his  reserved 
energy.  The  king  hummed,  — 

“ * She  is  a child, 

She  is  a child/ 

“ It  is  said  you  are  on  bad  terms  with  Voltaire,  Monsieur 
Rousseau  1 ” 


106 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


At  this  blow  Rousseau  lost  the  little  presence  of  mind 
he  had  remaining,  and  was  totally  put  out  of  countenance. 
The  king  did  not  seem  to  have  much  pity  for  him  ; and 
continuing  his  ferocious  melomania,  he  moved  off,  singing  : 

“ ‘ Come,  dance  with  me  beneath  the  elms  ; 

Young  maidens,  come,  be  merry,’  ” 

with  orchestral  accompaniments  which  would  have  killed 
Apollo,  as  the  latter  killed  Marsyas. 

Rousseau  remained  alone  in  the  centre  of  the  room. 
The  dauphiness  had  gone  away  to  finish  her  toilet. 

Rousseau,  trembling  and  confused,  regained  the  corri- 
dor ; hut  on  his  way  he  stumbled  against  a couple  dazzling 
with  diamonds,  flowers,  and  lace,  who  filled  up  the  entire 
width  of  the  corridor,  although  the  young  man  pressed 
his  lovely  companion  tenderly  to  his  side. 

The  young  woman,  with  her  fluttering  laces,  her  tower- 
ing headdress,  her  fan,  and  her  perfumes,  was  radiant  as  a 
star.  It  was  she  against  whom  Rousseau  brushed  in  passing. 

The  young  man,  slender,  elegant,  and  charming,  with 
his  blue  ribbon  rustling  against  his  English  shirt-frill, 
every  now  and  then  burst  into  a laugh  of  most  engaging 
frankness,  and  then  suddenly  interrupted  it  with  little 
confidential  whispers,  which  made  the  lady  laugh  in  her 
turn,  and  showed  that  they  were  on  excellent  terms. 

Rousseau  recognized  the  Comtesse  Dubarry  in  this 
beautiful  lady,  — this  seducing  creature  ; and  the  moment 
he  perceived  her,  true  to  his  habit  of  concentrating  all  his 
thoughts  on  a single  object,  he  no  longer  saw  her  com- 
panion. The  young  man  with  the  blue  ribbon  was  no 
other  than  the  Comte  d’Artois,  who  was  merrily  toying 
with  his  grandfather’s  favorite. 

When  Madame  Dubarry  perceived  Rousseau’s  dark  fig- 
ure, she  exclaimed,  “ Ah,  good  heavens  ! ” 


THE  SIDE-SCENES  OF  TRIANON. 


107 


“ What ! ” said  the  Comte  d’Artois,  also  looking  at  the 
philosopher ; and  already  he  had  stretched  out  his  hand 
to  make  way  for  his  companion. 

“ Monsieur  Rousseau  ! ” exclaimed  Madame  Dubarry. 

“ Rousseau  of  Geneva  1 ” said  the  Comte  d* Artois,  in 
the  tone  of  a schoolboy  in  the  holidays. 

“Yes,  Monseigneur,”  replied  the  countess. 

“ Ah,  good-day,  Monsieur  Rousseau  ! ” said  the  young 
fop,  seeing  Rousseau  making  a despairing  effort  to  force  a 
passage,  — “good-day  ; we  are  going  to  hear  your  music.” 

“ Monseigneur  ! ” stammered  Rousseau,  seeing  the  blue 
ribbon. 

“ Ah,  most  charming  music  ! ” exclaimed  the  countess  ; 
“ and  completely  in  harmony  with  the  heart  and  mind  of 
the  author.” 

Rousseau  raised  his  head,  and  his  eyes  met  the  burning 
gaze  of  the  countess. 

“ Madame ! ” said  he,  ill-humoredly, 

“ I will  play  Colin,  Madame ! ” cried  the  Comte  d’Artois ; 
“ and  I entreat  that  you,  Madame  la  Comtesse,  will  play 
Colette ! ” 

“ With  all  my  heart,  Monseigneur ; but  I should  never 
dare  — I,  who  am  not  an  artist  — to  profane  the  music  of 
a master ! ” 

Rousseau  would  have  given  his  life  to  look  again  at  her ; 
but  the  voice,  the  tone,  the  flattery,  the  beauty,  had 
each  planted  a baited  hook  in  his  heart.  He  tried  to 
escape. 

“ Monsieur  Rousseau,”  said  the  prince,  blocking  up  the 
passage,  “ I wish  you  would  teach  me  the  part  of  Colin.” 

“ I dare  not  ask  Monsieur  Rousseau  to  give  me  his 
advice  respecting  Colette ! ” said  the  countess,  feigning 
timidity,  and  thus  completing  the  overthrow  of  the  phi- 
losopher. But  yet  his  eyes  inquired  why. 


108 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Monsieur  Rousseau  hates  me  ! ” said  she  to  the  prince, 
with  her  enchanting  voice. 

“ You  are  jesting  ! ” exclaimed  the  Comte  d* Artois. 
“ Who  could  hate  you,  Madame  1 ” 

“ You  see  it  plainly,”  she  replied. 

“ Monsieur  Rousseau  is  too  great  a man,  and  has  written 
too  many  noble  works,  to  fly  from  such  a charming 
woman,”  said  the  Comte  d’ Artois. 

Rousseau  heaved  a sigh  as  if  he  were  ready  to  give  up 
the  ghost,  and  made  his  escape  through  a narrow  loophole 
which  the  Comte  d’ Artois  had  imprudently  left  between 
himself  and  the  wall. 

But  Rousseau  was  not  in  luck  this  evening.  He  had 
scarcely  proceeded  four  steps  when  he  met  another  group, 
composed  of  two  men,  one  old,  the  other  young.  The 
young  one  wore  the  blue  ribbon ; the  other,  who  might 
be  about  fifty  years  of  age,  was  dressed  in  red,  and  looked 
austere  and  pale.  These  two  men  overheard  the  merry 
laugh  of  the  Comte  d’ Artois,  who  exclaimed  loudly  : 
“ Ah ! Monsieur  Rousseau  ! Monsieur  Rousseau  ! I shall 
say  that  the  countess  put  you  to  flight ; and  in  truth  no 
one  would  believe  it.” 

“ Rousseau  ! ” murmured  the  two  men. 

“Stop  him,  brother!”  said  the  prince,  still  laughing; 
“ stop  him,  Monsieur  de  Vauguyon  ! ” 

Rousseau  now  comprehended  on  what  rock  his  evil  star 
had  shipwrecked  him.  The  Comte  de  Provence  and  the 
governor  of  the  royal  youths  were  before  him. 

The  Comte  de  Provence  also  barred  the  way.  “ Good 
day,  Monsieur,”  said  he,  in  his  dry,  pedantic  voice. 

Rousseau,  almost  at  his  wits’  end,  bowed,  muttering  to 
himself  : “ I shall  never  get  away  ! ” 

“ Ah  ! I am  delighted  to  have  met  you,”  said  the  prince, 
with  the  air  of  a schoolmaster  who  finds  a pupil  in  fault. 


THE  SIDE-SCENES  OF  TRIANON. 


109 


“ More  absurd  compliments  ! ” thought  Bousseau.  “ How 
insipid  these  great  people  are  ! ” 

“ I have  read  your  translation  of  Tacitus,  Monsieur.” 

“ Ah  ! true,”  thought  Bousseau;  “ this  one  is  a pedant, 
a scholar.  ” 

“Do  you  know  that  it  is  very  difficult  to  translate 
Tacitus  ? ” 

“ Monseigneur,  I said  so  in  a short  preface.” 

“ Yes,  I know,  I know;  you  said  in  it  that  you  had 
only  a slight  knowledge  of  Latin.” 

“ It  is  true,  Monseigneur.” 

“ Then,  Monsieur  Bousseau,  why  translate  Tacitus  1 ” 

“ Monseigneur,  it  improves  one’s  style.” 

“ Ah  ! Monsieur  Bousseau,  it  was  wrong  to  translate  ‘ im- 
peratoria  brevitate  ’ by  ‘ a grave  and  concise  discourse. 9 ” 
Bousseau,  uneasy,  consulted  his  memory. 

“Yes,”  said  the  young  prince,  with  the  confidence  of 
an  old  savant  who  discovers  a fault  in  Saumaise ; “ yes, 
you  translated  it  so.  It  is  in  the  paragraph  where  Tacitus 
relates  that  Pison  harangued  his  soldiers.” 

“ Well,  Monseigneur  1 ” 

“Well,  Monsieur  Bousseau,  ‘imperatoria  brevitate’ 
means,  ‘with  the  conciseness  of  a general,’  or  of  a man 
accustomed  to  command.  ‘ With  the  brevity  of  command ; 
that  is  the  expression,  is  it  not,  Monsieur  de  la  Yauguyon  1 99 
“Yes,  Monseigneur,”  replied  the  governor. 

Bousseau  made  no  reply.  The  prince  added  : “ That  is 
an  evident  mistake,  Monsieur  Bousseau.  Oh  ! I will  find 
you  another.” 

Bousseau  turned  pale. 

“ Stay,  Monsieur  Bousseau,  there  is  one  in  the  paragraph 
relating  to  Cecina.  It  begins  thus  : ‘ At  in  superiors  Ger- 
mania.’ You  know  he  is  describing  Cecina,  and  Tacitus 
says,  ‘ Cito  sermone.’  ” 


110 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ I remember  it  perfectly,  MoIlseigneur.,, 

“ You  translated  that,  ‘ speaking  well/  ” 

“Yes,  Monseigneur,  and  I thought  — ” 

“ 6 Cito  sermone  ’ means  6 speaking  quickly/  — that  is 
to  say,  ‘ easily/  ” 

“ I said  6 speaking  well/  99 

“ Then  it  should  have  been  * decoro/  or  * ornato/  or 
‘ eleganti  sermone  ; 9 ‘ cito 9 is  a picturesque  epithet,  Mon- 
sieur Rousseau.  So,  in  portraying  the  change  in  Otho’s 
conduct,  Tacitus  says : ‘ Delata  voluptate,  dissimulata 
luxuria,  cunctaque  ad  imperii  decorem  composita/  99 
“ I have  translated  that : ‘ Dismissing  luxury  and  effem- 
inacy to  other  times,  he  surprised  the  world  by  industri- 
ously applying  himself  to  re-establish  the  glory  of  the 
empire/  ” 

“ Wrong,  Monsieur  Rousseau,  wrong ! In  the  first 
place,  you  have  run  the  three  little  phrases  into  one, 
which  obliges  you  to  translate  ‘ dissimulata  luxuria 9 badly. 
Then  you  made  a blunder  in  the  last  portion  of  the  phrase. 
Tacitus  did  not  mean  that  the  Emperor  Otho  applied  him- 
self to  re-establishing  the  glory  of  the  empire ; he  meant  to 
say  that,  no  longer  gratifying  his  passions,  and  dissimula- 
ting his  luxurious  habits,  Otho  accommodated  all,  made  all 
turn,  — all,  you  understand,  Monsieur  Rousseau  ; that  is 
to  say,  even  his  passions  and  his  vices,  — to  the  glory  of 
the  empire.  That  is  the  sense,  — it  is  rather  complex ; 
yours,  however,  is  too  restricted,  is  it  not,  Monsieur  de  la 
Yauguyon ? ” 

“Yes,  Monseigneur.” 

Rousseau  perspired  and  panted  under  this  pitiless  inflic- 
tion. The  prince  allowed  him  a moments  breathing-time, 
and  then  continued  : “ You  are  much  more  in  your  ele- 

ment in  philosophy,  Monsieur.” 

Rousseau  bowed. 


THE  SIDE-SCENES  OF  TRIANON. 


Ill 


“But  your  c Emile  ’ is  a dangerous  book.” 

“ Dangerous,  Monseigneur  3 ” 

“ Yes,  from  the  quantity  of  false  ideas  it  will  put  into 
the  humbler  citizens’  heads  ! ” 

“ Monseigneur,  as  soon  as  a man  is  a father,  he  can  enter 
into  the  spirit  of  my  book,  whether  he  be  the  first  or  the 
last  in  the  kingdom.  To  be  a father  — is  — is  — ” 

“ Tell  me,  Monsieur  Rousseau,”  asked  the  satirical 
prince,  suddenly,  “ your  ‘ Confessions 9 is  a very  amusing 
book.  How  many  children  have  you  had  h ” 

Rousseau  turned  pale,  staggered,  and  raised  an  angry 
and  stupefied  glance  to  his  young  tormentor’s  face,  the 
expression  of  which  only  increased  the  malicious  humor  of 
the  Comte  de  Provence.  It  was  only  malice,  for  without 
waiting  for  a reply  the  prince  moved  away  arm-in-arm 
with  his  preceptor,  continuing  his  commentaries  on  the 
works  of  the  man  whom  he  had  so  cruelly  crushed. 

Rousseau,  left  alone,  was  gradually  recovering  from  his 
stupefaction,  when  he  heard  the  first  bars  of  his  overture 
executed  by  the  orchestra.  He  proceeded  in  that  direction 
with  a faltering  step,  and  when  he  had  reached  his  seat,  he 
said  to  himself : “ Fool ! coward  ! stupid  ass  that  I am  ! 
Now  only  do  I find  the  answer  I should  have  made  the 
cruel  little  pedant.  * Monseigneur,’  I should  have  said, 
i it  is  not  charitable  in  a young  person  to  torment  a poor 
old  man.’  ” 

He  had  just  reached  this  point,  quite  content  with  his 
phrase,  when  the  dauphiness  and  Monsieur  de  Coigny 
began  their  duet.  The  preoccupation  of  the  philosopher 
was  disturbed  by  the  suffering  of  the  musician:  the  ear 
was  to  be  tortured  after  the  heart. 


112 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  REHEARSAL. 

The  rehearsal  once  fairly  commenced,  and  the  general 
attention  drawn  to  the  stage,  Rousseau  was  no  longer 
remarked.  He  began  to  look  around  him.  He  heard 
noblemen  who  sang  completely  out  of  tune  in  their  shep- 
herd’s garb,  and  saw  ladies  arrayed  in  their  court-dresses 
coquetting  like  shepherdesses. 

The  dauphiness  sang  correctly,  but  she  was  a bad 
actress;  her  voice,  moreover,  was  so  weak  that  she  could 
scarcely  be  heard.  The  king,  not  to  intimidate  any  one, 
had  retired  to  an  obscure  box,  where  he  chatted  with  the 
ladies.  The  dauphin  prompted  the  words  of  the  opera, 
which  went  off  royally  badly. 

Rousseau  determined  not  to  listen,  but  he  felt  it  very 
difficult  to  avoid  hearing.  He  had  one  consolation, 
however,  for  he  had  just  perceived  a charming  face 
among  the  illustrious  figurantes,  and  the  village  maiden 
who  was  the  possessor  of  this  charming  face  had  incom- 
parably the  finest  voice  in  the  entire  company. 

Rousseau’s  attention  became  at  once  completely  riveted, 
and  from  his  position  behind  his  desk  he  gazed  with  his 
whole  soul  at  the  charming  figurante,  and  listened  with 
all  his  ears  to  drink  in  the  enchanting  melody  of  her 
voice. 

When  the  dauphiness  saw  the  author  so  attentive,  she 
was  convinced  by  his  smile  and  his  sentimental  air  that 
he  was  pleased  with  the  execution  of  his  work ; and  eager 


THE  REHEARSAL. 


113 


for  a compliment,  — for  she  was  a woman,  — she  leaned 
forward  to  the  desk,  saying  : “ Is  our  performance  very- 
bad,  Monsieur  Rousseau  ? ” 

But  Rousseau,  with  lips  apart  and  absent  air,  did  not 
reply. 

“ Oh  ! we  have  made  some  blunders,”  said  the  dauphi- 
ness,  “ and  Monsieur  Rousseau  dares  not  tell  us ! I 
entreat  you,  Monsieur  Rousseau  ! ” 

Rousseau’s  gaze  followed  the  beautiful  personage,  who 
on  her  side  did  not  perceive  the  attention  which  she 
excited. 

“ Ah  ! ” said  the  dauphiness,  observing  the  direction  of 
our  philosopher’s  eyes,  “ it  is  Mademoiselle  Taverney  who 
has  been  in  fault ! ” 

Andree  blushed  ; she  saw  all  eyes  directed  toward 
her. 

“ No,  no!”  exclaimed  Rousseau;  “it  was  not  Made- 
moiselle, for  Mademoiselle  sings  like  an  angel ! ” 

Madame  Dubarry  darted  at  the  philosopher  a look 
keener  than  a javelin.  The  Baron  de  Taverney,  on  the 
contrary,  felt  his  heart  bound  with  joy,  and  greeted 
Rousseau  with  a most  enchanting  smile. 

“ Do  you  think  that  young  girl  sings  well  ? ” said 
Madame  Dubarry  to  the  king,  who  was  evidently  struck 
by  Rousseau’s  words. 

“ In  a chorus  I cannot  hear  distinctly,”  said  Louis 
XV.  ; “ only  a musician  can  properly  distinguish.” 

Meanwhile  Rousseau  was  busy  in  the  orchestra  directing 
the  chorus : — 

*(  Colin  returns  to  his  shepherdess  ; 

Hail  we  all  a return  so  gay.” 

As  he  turned  to  resume  his  seat,  he  saw  Monsieur  de 
Jussieu  bowing  to  him  graciously.  It  was  no  slight 

vol.  in.  — 8 


114 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


pleasure  for  the  Genevese  to  be  seen  thus  giving  laws 
to  the  court  by  a courtier  who  had  wounded  him  a little 
by  his  superiority.  He  returned  his  bow  most  ceremo- 
niously, and  continued  to  gaze  at  Andree,  who  looked 
even  more  lovely  for  the  praises  she  had  received. 

As  the  rehearsal  proceeded,  Madame  Dubarry  became 
furious  ; twice  had  she  surprised  Louis  XV.’s  attention 
wandering,  distracted  by  the  spectacle  before  him  from 
the  sweet  speeches  she  whispered.  To  her  jealous  obser- 
vation Andree  was  the  chief  feature  of  the  spectacle. 

The  dauphiness,  however,  received  many  compliments, 
and  was  in  gay  spirits.  Monsieur  de  Richelieu  fluttered 
around  her  with  the  agility  of  a young  man,  and  succeeded 
in  forming,  at  the  extremity  of  the  stage,  a circle  of 
laughers,  of  which  the  dauphiness  was  the  centre,  and 
which  rendered  the  Dubarry  party  extremely  uneasy.  “ It 
appears,”  said  he  aloud,  “ that  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney 
has  a sweet  voice.” 

“ Charming ! ” said  the  dauphiness ; “ and  had  I not 
been  too  selfish,  I should  have  allowed  her  to  play  Colette; 
but  as  it  is  for  my  amusement  that  I undertook  the  char- 
acter, I will  give  it  up  to  no  one.” 

“ Oh ! Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  would  not  sing 
it  better  than  your  Royal  Highness,”  said  Richelieu, 
* and  — ” 

“ Mademoiselle  is  an  excellent  musician,”  said  Rous- 
seau, with  enthusiasm. 

“ Excellent ! ” responded  the  dauphiness  ; “ and,  to 
confess  the  truth,  it  is  she  who  teaches  me  my  part,  — 
besides,  she  dances  enchantingly,  and  I dance  very 
badly.” 

The  effect  of  this  conversation  upon  the  king,  upon 
Madame  Dubarry,  and  the  whole  crowd  of  curious  news- 
mongers and  envious  intriguers,  may  be  imagined.  All 


THE  REHEARSAL. 


115 


either  tasted  the  pleasure  of  inflicting  a wound,  or  re- 
ceived the  blow  with  shame  and  grief.  There  were  no 
indifferent  spectators,  except  perhaps  Andree  herself. 

The  dauphiness,  incited  by  Richelieu,  finally  made 
Andree  sing  the  air,  — 

**  I have  lost  my  love  ; 

Colin  leaves  me.” 

The  king’s  head  was  seen  to  mark  the  time  with  such 
evident  tokens  of  pleasure  that  Madame  Dubarry’s  rouge 
fell  off  in  little  flakes,  as  paintings  are  scaled  by  moisture. 

Richelieu,  more  malicious  than  a woman,  enjoyed  his 
revenge.  He  had  drawn  near  the  elder  Taverney,  and 
the  two  old  men  formed  a tableau  which  might  have  been 
taken  for  Hypocrisy  and  Corruption  sealing  a compact 
of  union.  Their  joy  increased  the  more  as  Madame 
Dubarry’s  features  grew  by  degrees  darker  and  darker. 
She  added  the  finishing  stroke  to  it  by  rising  angrily, 
which  was  contrary  to  all  etiquette,  as  the  king  was  still 
seated. 

The  courtiers,  like  ants,  felt  the  storm  approach,  and 
hastened  to  seek  shelter  with  the  strongest.  The  dauphi- 
ness was  more  closely  surrounded  by  her  own  friends, 
Madame  Dubarry  was  more  courted  by  hers. 

By  degrees  the  interest  of  the  rehearsal  was  diverted 
from  its  natural  course  into  quite  a different  direction. 
Colin  and  Colette  were  no  more  thought  of,  and  many 
spectators  thought  that  it  would  soon  be  Madame  Du- 
barry’s  turn  to  sing,  — 

“ I have  lost  my  love  ; 

Colin  leaves  me.” 

“Do  you  mark,”  whispered  Richelieu  to  Taverney, 
“ your  daughter’s  immense  success  ? ” and  he  drew  him 
into  the  corridor,  pushing  open  a glass-door,  and  causing  a 


116 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


looker-on,  who  had  been  clinging  to  the  framework  in 
order  to  see  into  the  hall,  to  fall  backward. 

u Confound  the  fellow ! ” growled  Richelieu,  dusting  his 
sleeve,  which  the  door  had  brushed  against  on  its  rebound ; 
and  he  seemed  still  more  angry  when  he  saw  that  the 
looker-on  was  dressed  like  a workman  of  the  chateau. 

It  was,  in  fact,  a workman,  with  a basket  of  flowers 
under  his  arm,  who  had  succeeded  in  climbing  up  behind 
the  glass,  from  which  position  he  had  looked  into  the  hall 
and  witnessed  the  entire  spectacle.  He  was  pushed  back 
into  the  corridor,  and  almost  overturned  ; he  himself  es- 
caped falling,  but  his  basket  was  upset. 

“ Ah  ! I know  the  rascal,”  said  Taverney,  angrily. 

“ Who  is  it  1 ” asked  the  duke. 

“ What  are  you  doing  here,  scoundrel  ?”  said  Taverney. 

Gilbert  — the  reader  has  doubtless  already  recognized 
him  — replied  haughtily,  “ You  see,  — I am  looking.” 

“ Instead  of  being  at  your  work,”  said  Richelieu. 

“ My  work  is  done,”  said  Gilbert,  humbly  addressing 
the  duke,  without  deigning  to  look  at  Taverney. 

“ Am  I fated  to  meet  this  lazy  rascal  everywhere  ? ” said 
Taverney. 

“ Gently,  Monsieur,”  interrupted  a voice ; “ gently. 
My  little  Gilbert  is  a good  workman  and  an  industrious 
botanist.” 

Taverney  turned,  and  saw  Monsieur  de  Jussieu,  who 
was  patting  Gilbert  on  the  head.  The  baron  reddened 
with  anger  and  moved  off. 

“ Yalets  here  ! 99  muttered  he. 

“ Hush  ! ” said  Richelieu,  “ there  is  Nicole  ! Look,  — 
up  there,  in  the  corner  by  that  door.  The  little  witch ! 
she  is  not  making  bad  use  of  her  eyes  either.” 

The  marshal  was  correct.  Partially  concealed  behind  a 
score  of  the  domestics  of  Trianon,  Nicole  raised  her  charm- 


THE  REHEARSAL. 


117 


ing  head  above  all  the  others,  and  her  eyes,  dilated  with 
surprise  and  admiration,  seemed  to  magnify  the  scene  at 
which  she  gazed.  Gilbert  perceived  her,  and  turned 
another  way. 

“ Come,  come  ! ” said  the  duke  to  Taverney ; “ I think 
the  king  wishes  to  speak  to  you.  He  is  looking  this 
way ; ” and  the  two  friends  disappeared  in  the  direction 
of  the  royal  box. 

Madame  Dubarry  was  standing  behind  the  king  and 
interchanging  signs  with  Monsieur  d’Aiguillon,  who  was 
also  standing,  and  who  did  not  lose  one  of  his  uncle’s 
movements. 

Rousseau,  now  left  alone,  admired  Andree ; he  was  en- 
deavoring, if  we  may  use  the  expression,  to  fall  in  love 
with  her. 

The  illustrious  actors  proceeded  to  disrobe  in  their  boxes, 
which  Gilbert  had  decorated  with  fresh  flowers. 

Taverney,  left  alone  in  the  passage  by  Monsieur  de 
Richelieu,  who  had  gone  to  rejoin  the  king,  felt  his  heart 
alternately  chilled  and  elated.  At  last  the  duke  returned, 
and  placed  his  finger  upon  his  lips.  Taverney  turned  pale 
with  joy,  and  advanced  to  meet  his  friend,  who  drew  him 
beneath  the  royal  box.  There  they  overheard  the  follow- 
ing conversation,  which  was  quite  inaudible  to  the  rest  of 
the  company.  Madame  Dubarry  was  saying  to  the  king  : 
“ May  I expect  your  Majesty  to  supper  this  evening  1 ” 

And  the  king  replied : “ I feel  fatigued,  Countess ; 
excuse  me.” 

At  the  same  moment  the  dauphin  entered,  almost  tread- 
ing on  Madame  Dubarry ’s  toes,  without  seeming  to  see 
her. 

“ Sire,”  said  he,  “ will  your  Majesty  do  us  the  honor  of 
taking  supper  with  us  at  Trianon  1 ” 

“ No,  my  son ; I was  just  saying  to  the  countess  that  I 


118 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


feel  fatigued.  Our  young  people  have  made  me  giddy ; I 
shall  sup  alone.” 

The  dauphin  bowed  and  retired.  Madame  Dubarry 
made  a profound  reverence,  and,  trembling  with  rage,  left 
the  box.  When  she  had  gone,  the  king  made  a sign  to 
the  Due  de  Richelieu. 

“ Duke/’  said  he,  “ I wish  to  speak  to  you  about  an 
affair  which  concerns  you.” 

“ Sire—” 

“ I have  not  been  pleased  — I wish  you  to  explain  to 
me  — Stay,  I am  alone ; you  shall  take  supper  with  me;” 
and  the  king  looked  at  Taverney.  “ You  know  this 
gentleman,  I think,  Duke  ? ” 

“ Monsieur  de  Taverney  ? Yes,  Sire.” 
u Ah  ! the  father  of  the  charming  singer  1 ” 

“ Yes,  Sire.” 

“ Listen,  Duke  ! ” 

The  king  stooped  to  whisper  in  Richelieu’s  ear.  Taver- 
ney clenched  his  hands  till  the  nails  entered  the  flesh, 
to  avoid  showing  any  emotion.  Immediately  afterward 
Richelieu  brushed  past  Taverney,  and  said : “ Follow 
me,  without  seeming  to  do  so.” 

“ Whither  % ” asked  Taverney,  in  the  same  tone. 

“ No  matter  ; follow  me.” 

The  duke  moved  away.  Taverney  followed  him  at  a 
little  distance  to  the  king’s  apartment.  The  duke  entered ; 
Taverney  waited  in  the  ante-room. 


THE  CASKET. 


119 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  CASKET. 

Monsieur  de  Taverney  had  not  to  wait  long.  Riche- 
lieu, having  asked  the  king’s  valet  for  something  his 
Majesty  had  left  upon  his  dressing-table,  soon  returned, 
carrying  a parcel,  the  nature  of  which  the  baron  could  not 
distinguish,  on  account  of  the  covering  of  silk  which  en- 
veloped it.  But  the  marshal  soon  relieved  his  friend  from 
all  anxiety.  Drawing  him  into  a corner  of  the  gallery, 
“ Baron,”  said  he,  as  soon  as  he  saw  that  they  were 
alone,  " you  have  at  times  seemed  to  doubt  my  friendship 
for  you  ] ” 

“ Never  since  our  reconciliation,”  replied  Taverney. 

“ At  least,  you  were  in  doubt  concerning  your  fortune 
and  that  of  your  children  ? ” 

“ Oh  ! as  to  that,  — yes.” 

“Well,  you  were  wrong.  Your  children’s  fortune  and 
your  own  is  made  with  a rapidity  which  should  make  you 
giddy.” 

“ Bah ! ” said  Taverney,  who  suspected  part  of  the 
truth,  but  who,  as  he  was  not  quite  certain,  took  care  to 
guard  against  mistakes ; “ how  is  the  fortune  of  my  chil- 
dren so  quickly  made  ? ” 

“ Monsieur  Philippe  is  already  a captain,  with  a com- 
pany paid  for  by  the  king.” 

“ It  is  true ; I owe  that  to  you.” 

“ By  no  means.  Now  we  shall  have  Mademoiselle  de 
Taverney  a marchioness,  perhaps.” 


120 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Come,  come  ! ” exclaimed  Taverney.  “ What,  — my 
daughter ! ” 

“ Listen,  Taverney ! the  king  has  great  taste ; and 
beauty,  grace,  and  virtue,  when  accompanied  by  talent, 
delight  his  Majesty.  Now,  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney 
unites  all  these  qualities  in  a very  high  degree.  The  king 
is  therefore  delighted  with  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney.” 

“ Duke,”  replied  Taverney,  assuming  an  air  of  dignity 
at  which  the  marshal  could  scarcely  repress  a smile, — 
“ Duke,  what  do  you  mean  by  ‘ delighted  * 1 ” 

Richelieu  did  not  like  pretension,  and  replied,  dryly  : 
“ Baron,  I am  not  a great  linguist ; I am  not  even  well 
versed  in  orthography.  I have  always  thought  that  6 de- 
lighted 9 signified  ‘ pleased  beyond  measure. 9 If  you  are 
grieved  beyond  measure  to  see  the  king  pleased  with  the 
beauty,  the  talent,  the  merit  of  your  children,  you  have 
only  to  say  so,  — I will  return  to  his  Majesty ; ” and 
Richelieu  turned  on  his  heel  with  a movement  quite 
juvenile. 

“ You  .misunderstand  me,  Duke  ! ” exclaimed  the 
baron,  stopping  him.  “ Confound  it,  how  hasty  you 
are  ! ” 

“ Why  did  you  say  that  you  were  not  satisfied  1 ” 

“ I did  not  say  so.” 

“You  asked  for  explanations  of  the  king’s  pleasure; 
you  are  foolish  ! ” 

“ But,  Duke,  I did  not  breathe  a syllable  of  that.  For 
my  own  part,  I most  certainly  am  satisfied.” 

“ Ah,  you  ! Well,  who  will  be  dissatisfied,  — your 
daughter  ? ” 

“ Eh  ! eh  ! ” 

“ My  dear  fellow,  you  have  brought  up  your  daughter 
like  a savage,  as  you  are.” 

“ My  dear  friend,  the  young  lady  educated  herself ; you 


THE  CASKET. 


121 


may  easily  imagine  that  I could  not  possibly  trouble  my- 
self with  any  such  matter.  I had  enough  to  do  to  sup- 
port life  in  my  den  at  Taverney.  Virtue  in  her  ha$ 
sprung  up  spontaneously.” 

“ And  yet  people  say  that  country  folks  know  how  to 
pull  up  weeds  ! In  short,  your  daughter  is  a prude.” 

“ You  mistake;  she  is  a dove.” 

Richelieu  made  a grimace.  “Well,”  said  he,  “the  poor 
child  has  only  to  look  out  for  a good  husband,  for  oppor- 
tunities of  making  a fortune  will  come  to  her  rarely  with 
this  defect.” 

Taverney  looked  uneasily  at  the  duke. 

“ Fortunately  for  her,”  continued  Richelieu,  “ the  king 
is  so  desperately  in  love  with  the  Dubarry  that  he  will 
never  think  seriously  of  another.” 

Taverney’s  alarm  was  changed  to  anguish. 

u Therefore,”  continued  Richelieu,  “ you  and  your 
daughter  may  make  your  minds  easy.  I will  state  the 
unavoidable  obstacles  to  his  Majesty,  and  the  king  will 
never  bestow  another  thought  on  the  matter.” 

“ But  obstacles  to  what  ] Good  heavens  ! ” exclaimed 
Taverney,  turning  pale,  and  shaking  his  friend’s  arm. 

“ To  his  making  a little  present  to  Mademoiselle  Andree, 
my  dear  Baron.” 

“ A little  present ! What  is  it  1 ” asked  the  baron,  full 
of  hope  and  avarice. 

“ Oh,  a mere  trifle  ! ” said  Richelieu,  carelessly;  and  he 
took  a casket  from  its  silken  covering. 

“ A casket  1 ” 

“ A trifle,  — a necklace  worth  a few  million  francs, 
which  his  Majesty,  flattered  at  hearing  her  sing  his  favor- 
ite  air,  wished  to  present  to  the  fair  singer.  It  is  quite  in 
order ; but  since  your  daughter  is  easily  frightened,  we  will 
drop  the  subject.” 


122 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Duke,  you  must  not  think  of  it,  — that  would  he 
offend  the  king.” 

“ Of  course  it  would  ; but  is  it  not  the  attribute  of  vir- 
tue always  to  offend  some  person  or  some  thing  ? ” 

“ But,  Duke,  consider,  — the  child  is  not  so  un- 
reasonable.” 

“That  is  to  say,  it  is  you,  and  not  your  child,  who 
speaks.” 

“ Oh,  I know  so  well  what  she  will  do  and  say  ! ” 

“The  Chinese  are  a very  fortunate  people,”  said 
Richelieu. 

“ Why  ? ” asked  Taverney,  astonished. 

“ Because  they  have  so  many  rivers  and  canals  in  the 
country.” 

“ Duke,  you  turn  the  conversation.  Do  not  drive  me  to 
despair ; speak  to  me.” 

“ I am  speaking  to  you,  Baron,  and  am  not  changing 
the  conversation  at  all.” 

“ Then  why  do  you  speak  of  China  ? What  have  its 
rivers  to  do  with  my  daughter?” 

“ A great  deal.  The  Chinese,  I mean,  have  the  happi- 
ness of  being  able  to  drown  their  daughters  when  they  are 
too  virtuous,  and  no  one  can  forbid  it.” 

“ Come,  Duke,  you  must  be  just ! Suppose  you  had  a 
daughter  yourself?” 

“ Pardieu  / I have  one ; and  if  any  one  were  to  tell  me 
that  she  is  too  virtuous,  it  would  be  very  ill-natured  of  him.” 

“ In  short,  you  would  like  her  better  otherwise,  would 
you  not  ? ” 

“ Oh  ! for  my  part,  I don’t  meddle  with  my  children 
after  they  are  eight  years  old.” 

“ Listen  to  me,  at  least ! If  the  king  were  to  commis- 
sion me  to  offer  a necklace  to  your  daughter,  and  if  your 
daughter  were  to  complain  to  you  ? ” 


THE  CASKET. 


123 


“ Oh,  my  friend,  there  is  no  comparison ! I have  al- 
ways lived  at  court,  — you  have  lived  like  a North  Ameri- 
can Indian ; there  is  no  similarity.  What  you  call  virtue, 
I think  folly.  Eemember,  for  the  future,  that  nothing  is 
more  ill-bred  than  to  say,  ‘ What  would  you  do  in  this  or 
that  case  1 * And  besides,  your  comparisons  are  erroneous, 
my  friend.  It  is  not  true  that  I am  about  to  present  a 
necklace  to  your  daughter.” 

“ You  said  so.” 

“ I said  nothing  of  the  sort.  I said  that  the  king  had 
directed  me  to  bring  him  a casket  for  Mademoiselle  de 
Taverney,  whose  voice  had  pleased  him;  but  I did  not 
say  that  his  Majesty  had  charged  me  to  give  it  to  her.” 

“ Then,  in  truth,”  said  the  baron,  in  despair,  “ I know 
not  what  to  think.  I do  not  understand  a single  word ; 
you  speak  in  enigmas.  Why  give  this  necklace,  if  it  is 
not  to  be  given  ] Why  do  you  take  charge  of  it,  if  not  to 
deliver  it  1 ” 

Richelieu  uttered  an  exclamation  as  if  he  had  seen  a 
spider.  “ Ah  ! ” said  he ; “pouah  l — pouah  I the  Huron 
— the  ugly  animal!” 

“ Who]” 

" You,  my  good  friend,  — you,  my  trusty  comrade ; you 
seem  as  if  you  had  fallen  from  the  clouds,  Baron  ! ” 

“ I am  at  my  wits’  end.” 

“ No,  you  never  had  any.  When  a king  makes  a lady 
a present,  and  when  he  charges  Monsieur  de  Richelieu 
with  the  commission,  the  present  is  noble,  and  the 
commission  well  executed,  — remember  that.  I do  not 
deliver  caskets,  my  dear  fellow,  — that  was  Monsieur 
LebeFs  office.  Did  you  know  Monsieur  Lebel  ] ” 

“ What  is  your  office,  then  ] ” 

“ My  friend,”  said  Richelieu,  tapping  Taverney  on  the 
shoulder,  and  accompanying  this  amicable  action  by  a 


124 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


sardonic  smile,  “ when  I have  to  do  with  such  paragons  of 
virtue  as  Mademoiselle  Andree,  I am  the  most  moral  man 
in  the  world.  When  I approach  a dove,  as  you  call  your 
daughter,  I do  not  display  the  talons  of  the  hawk.  When 
I am  deputed  to  wait  on  a young  lady,  I speak  to  her 
father.  I speak  to  you,  therefore,  Taverney,  and  give 
you  the  casket  to  present  to  your  daughter.  Well ! are 
you  willing  V9  — and  he  offered  the  casket.  “ Or  do  you 
decline  V9  — and  he  drew  it  back. 

“ Oh  ! say,  then,  all  that  at  once,”  exclaimed  the  baron ; 
“ say  that  I am  commissioned  by  his  Majesty  to  deliver 
the  present ! If  so,  it  assumes  quite  a correct  and 
paternal  character ; it  is,  so  to  speak,  purified  — ” 

“ Purified  ! Why,  you  must  have  suspected  his  Ma- 
jesty of  evil  intentions ! ” said  Eichelieu,  seriously. 
“Now,  you  cannot  have  dared  to  do  that'?” 

u God  forbid  ! But  the  world,  — that  is  to  say,  my 
daughter  — ” 

Eichelieu  shrugged  his  shoulders.  " Will  you  take  it  ] 
— yes,  or  no  ? ” he  asked. 

Taverney  quickly  held  out  his  hand.  “ You  are  cer- 
tain it  is  moral  1 99  said  he  to  the  duke,  with  a smile,  the 
counterpart  of  that  which  the  duke  had  just  addressed 
to  him. 

“ Do  you  not  think  it  pure  morality,  Baron,”  said  the 
marshal,  “ to  make  the  father,  who,  as  you  have  just  said, 
purifies  everything,  an  intermediate  party  between  the 
king’s  delight  and  your  daughter’s  charms  ? Let  Mon- 
sieur Jean  Jacques  Eousseau,  of  Geneva,  who  was  hover- 
ing about  here  just  now,  be  the  judge ; he  would  say  that 
Joseph  was  impure  in  comparison  with  me.” 

Eichelieu  pronounced  these  few  words  with  a calmness, 
an  abrupt  haughtiness,  a precision,  which  sdenced  Taver- 
ney’s  objections,  and  assisted  to  make  him  believe  that 


THE  CASKET. 


125 


he  ought  to  be  convinced.  He  seized  his  illustrious 
friend’s  hand,  therefore,  and  pressing  it,  “ Thanks  to  your 
delicacy,”  said  he,  “my  daughter  can  accept  this  present.” 
“ The  source  and  origin  of  the  good  fortune  to  which  I 
alluded  at  the  commencement  of  our  tiresome  discussion 
on  virtue.” 

“ Thanks,  dear  Duke  ; most  hearty  thanks  ! ” 

“ One  word  more.  Conceal  this  favor  carefully  from 
the  Dubarrys.  It  might  make  Madame  Dubarry  leave 
the  king  and  take  flight.” 

“ And  the  king  would  be  displeased  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know ; but  the  countess  would  not  thank  us. 
As  for  me,  I should  be  lost ! Be  discreet,  therefore.” 

“ Do  not  fear.  But  present  my  most  humble  thanks  to 
the  king.” 

“And  your  daughter’s  — I shall  not  fail.  But  you 
have  not  yet  reached  the  limits  of  the  favor  bestowed 
upon  you.  It  is  you  who  are  to  thank  the  king,  my 
dear  fellow ; his  Majesty  invites  you  to  take  supper  with 
him  this  evening.” 

“Me?” 

“You,  Taverney.  We  shall  be  a select  party,  — his 
Majesty,  you,  and  myself.  We  will  talk  of  your  daugh- 
ter’s virtue.  Adieu,  Taverney ; I see  Dubarry  with  Mon- 
sieur d’Aiguillon.  We  must  not  be  seen  together;  ” and, 
agile  as  a page,  he  disappeared  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
gallery,  leaving  Taverney  gazing  at  his  casket  like  a Saxon 
child  who  awakens  and  finds  the  Christmas  gifts  which 
have  been  placed  in  his  hands  while  he  slept. 


126 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

KING  LOUIS  XV.  *S  PRIVATE  SUPPER. 

The  marshal  found  the  king  in  the  little  salon  whither 
several  of  the  courtiers  had  followed  him,  preferring  rather 
to  lose  their  supper  than  to  allow  the  wandering  glance  of 
their  sovereign  to  fall  on  any  others  than  themselves. 
But  Louis  XY.  seemed  to  have  something  else  to  do  this 
evening  than  to  look  at  these  gentlemen.  He  dismissed 
every  one,  saying  that  he  did  not  intend  to  sup,  or 
that,  if  he  did,  it  would  be  alone.  All  the  guests  having 
thus  received  their  dismissal,  and  fearing  to  displease  the 
dauphin  if  they  were  not  present  at  the  ffite  which  he  was 
to  give  at  the  close  of  the  rehearsal,  instantly  flew  off  like 
a cloud  of  parasite  pigeons,  and  winged  their  way  to  him 
whom  they  were  permitted  to  see,  ready  to  assert  that  for 
him  they  had  deserted  his  Majesty’s  drawing-room. 

Louis  XY.,  whom  they  left  so  rapidly,  was  far  from 
bestowing  a thought  on  them.  At  another  time  the 
meanness  of  all  this  swarm  of  courtiers  would  have  ex- 
cited a smile  ; but  on  this  occasion  it  awoke  no  sentiment 
in  the  monarch’s  breast,  — a monarch  so  sarcastic  that 
he  spared  neither  bodily  nor  mental  defect  in  his  best 
friends,  if  we  may  suppose  that  Louis  XV.  ever  had  a 
friend. 

No;  at  that  moment  Louis  XV.  concentrated  his  entire 
attention  on  a carriage  which  was  drawn  up  opposite  the 
door  of  the  offices  of  Trianon,  the  coachman  seeming  to 
wait  only  for  the  step  which  should  announce  the  owner’s 


KING  LOUIS  XV.’S  PRIVATE  SUPPER. 


127 


presence  in  the  gilded  vehicle  to  urge  on  his  horses.  The 
carriage  was  Madame  Dubarry’s,  and  was  lighted  by  torches. 
Zamore,  seated  beside  the  coachman,  was  swinging  his  legs 
backward  and  forward  like  a child  at  play. 

At  last  Madame  Dubarry,  who  had  no  doubt  waited  in 
the  corridors  in  the  hope  of  receiving  some  message  from 
the  king,  appeared,  supported  on  Monsieur  d’Aiguillon’s 
arm.  Her  anger,  or  at  least  her  disappointment,  was  ap- 
parent in  the  rapidity  of  her  gait.  She  affected  too  much 
resolution  not  to  have  lost  her  presence  of  mind. 

After  Madame  Dubarry  followed  Jean,  looking  gloomy 
in  the  extreme,  and  absently  crushing  his  hat  beneath  his 
arm.  He  had  not  been  present  at  the  representation,  — 
the  dauphin  having  forgotten  to  invite  him ; but  he  had 
stolen  into  the  ante-room  somewhat  after  the  fashion  of  a 
lackey,  and  stood  pensive  as  Hippolytus,  with  his  shirt- 
frill  falling  over  his  vest  embroidered  with  silver  and  red 
flowers,  and  not  even  looking  at  his  tattered  ruffles,  which 
seemed  in  harmony  with  his  sad  thoughts.  Jean  had  seen 
his  sister  look  pale  and  alarmed,  and  had  concluded  from 
this  that  the  danger  was  great.  Jean  was  brave  in  diplo- 
macy only  when  opposed  to  flesh  and  blood,  never  when 
opposed  to  phantoms. 

Concealed  behind  the  window-curtain,  the  king  saw 
this  funereal  procession  defile  before  him  and  bury  itself 
in  the  countess’s  carriage.  Then,  when  the  door  was 
closed  and  the  footman  had  mounted  behind  the  carriage, 
the  coachman  shook  the  reins,  and  the  horses  started 
forward  at  a gallop. 

u Oh,”  said  the  king,  “ without  making  an  attempt  to 
see  me,  to  speak  to  me.  The  countess  is  furious  ! ” And 
he  repeated  aloud,  “ Yes,  the  countess  is  furious  ! 99 

Richelieu,  who  had  just  glided  into  the  room  like  an 
expected  visitor,  caught  these  last  words.  “ Furious,  Sire  ! 99 


128 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


said  he ; “ and  for  what  1 Because  your  Majesty  is 
amused  for  a moment  1 Oh,  that  is  not  amiable  of  the 
countess  ! ” 

“ Duke,”  replied  Louis  XV.,  “ I am  not  amused ; on 
the  contrary,  I am  wearied,  and  wish  for  repose.  Music 
enervates  me.  If  I had  listened  to  the  countess,.  I should 
have  supped  at  Luciennes ; I should  have  eaten,  and, 
above  all,  I should  have  drunk.  The  countess’s  wines 
are  too  strong ; I do  not  know  from  what  vineyards  they 
come,  but  they  overpower  me.  Upon  my  word,  I prefer 
to  take  my  ease  here  ! ” 

“ And  your  Majesty  is  perfectly  in  the  right ! ” said  the 
duke. 

“ Besides,  the  countess  will  find  amusement  elsewhere. 
Am  I such  an  amiable  companion  h She  may  say  so  as 
much  as  she  likes,  but  I do  not  believe  her.” 

“Ah,  this  time  your  Majesty  is  in  the  wrong!”  ex- 
claimed the  marshal. 

“ No,  Duke ; no,  in  truth.  I count  my  years,  and  I 
reflect.” 

“ Sire,  the  countess  is  well  aware  that  she  could  not 
possibly  have  better  company,  and  it  is  that  which  makes 
her  furious.” 

“ In  truth,  Duke,  I do  not  know  how  you  manage. 
You  still  lead  the  women  as  if  you  were  only  twenty 
years  old.  At  that  age  it  is  for  a man  to  choose  ; but  at 
mine,  Duke  — ” 

“ Well,  Sire  1 ” 

“ It  is  for  the  woman  to  make  her  calculations.” 

The  marshal  burst  into  a laugh.  “ Well,  Sire,”  said  he, 
“that  is  only  an  additional  reason;  “if  your  Majesty 
thinks  the  countess  is  amused,  let  ns  console  ourselves.” 

“ I do  not  say  she  is  amused,  Duke ; I only  say  that 
she  will  in  the  end  be  driven  to  seek  amusement.” 


KING  LOUIS  XV. ’S  PRIVATE  SUPPER. 


129 


“ Ah  ! Sire,  I dare  not  assert  that  such  things  have 
never  happened.” 

The  king  rose,  much  agitated.  “ Who  waits  outside  ? ” 
he  inquired. 

“ All  your  suite,  Sire.” 

The  king  reflected  for  a moment. 

“ But  have  you  any  one  there  ? ” 

“I  have  Bafte.” 

“ Very  good.” 

“ What  shall  he  do,  Sire  ? ” 

“ He  must  find  out  if  the  countess  really  returned  to 
Luciennes.” 

“ The  countess  is  already  gone,  I think,  Sire.’9 
“ Yes,  ostensibly.” 

“ But  whither  does  your  Majesty  think  she  is  gone?” 

“ Who  can  tell  ? Jealousy  makes  her  frantic,  Duke.” 

“ Sire,  is  it  not  rather  your  Majesty  — ” 

“How?  What?” 

“ Whom  jealousy  — ” 

“ Duke  ! ” 

“ In  truth,  it  would  be  very  humiliating  for  us  all, 
Sire,” 

“ I jealous  ? ” said  Louis,  with  a forced  laugh  ; “ are 
you  speaking  seriously,  Duke?” 

Kichelieu  did  not  in  truth  believe  it.  It  must  even  be 
confessed  that  he  was  very  near  the  truth  in  thinking 
that,  on  the  contrary,  the  king  only  wished  to  know  if 
Madame  Dubarry  was  really  at  Luciennes,  in  order  to  be 
sure  that  she  would  not  return  to  Trianon.  “ Then,  Sire,” 
said  he,  aloud,  “it  is  understood  that  I am  to  send  Rafte 
on  a voyage  of  discovery  ? ” 

“ Send  him,  Duke.” 

“ In  the  mean  time,  what  will  your  Majesty  do  before 
supper  ? ” 

VOL.  in.  — 9 


130 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Nothing  ; we  shall  sup  instantly.  Have  you  spoken 
to  the  person  in  question  ] ” 

“ Yes,  he  is  in  your  Majesty’s  antechamber.” 

“ What  did  he  say  ? ” 

‘‘He  expressed  his  deep  thanks.” 

“ And  the  daughter  ? ” 

“ She  has  not  been  spoken  to  yet.” 

“ Duke,  Madame  Dubarry  is  jealous,  and  might  readily 
return.” 

“ Ah,  Sire,  that  would  be  in  very  bad  taste  ! I think 
the  countess  would  be  incapable  of  committing  such  an 
enormity.” 

“ Duke,  she  is  capable  of  anything  in  such  moods,  espe- 
cially when  hatred  is  combined  with  jealousy.  She  exe- 
crates you  ; I don’t  know  if  you  were  aware  of  that.” 
Richelieu  bowed.  “ I know  she  does  me  that  honor, 
Sire.” 

“ She  execrates  Monsieur  de  Tavern ey  also.” 

“ If  your  Majesty  would  be  good  enough  to  reckon,  I 
am  sure  there  is  a third  person  whom  she  hates  even  more 
than  me,  — even  more  than  the  baron.” 

“ Whom  ? ” 

“ Mademoiselle  Andree.” 

“ Ah ! ” said  the  king ; “ I think  that  is  natural  enough.” 
“ Then  — ” 

u Yes,  but  that  does  not  prevent  its  being  necessary  to 
watch  that  Madame  Dubarry  does  not  cause  some  scandal 
this  evening.” 

“ On  the  contrary,  it  pro  ves  the  necessity  of  such  a 
measure.” 

“ Here  is  the  butler.  Hush ! give  your  orders  to  Rafte, 
and  join  me  in  the  dining-room  with  — you  know 
whom  ! ” 

Louis  rose,  and  passed  into  the  dining-room,  while 


KING  LOUIS  XV.’S  PRIVATE  SUPPER, 


131 


Bichelieu  made  his  exit  by  the  opposite  door.  Five  mim 
utes  afterward  he  rejoined  the  king,  accompanied  by  the 
baron. 

The  king  in  the  most  gracious  manner  bade  Taverney 
good-evening.  The  baron  was  a man  of  talent,  and  replied 
in  that  peculiar  manner  which  betokens  a person  accus- 
tomed to  good  society,  and  which  puts  kings  and  princes 
instantly  at  their  ease.  They  sat  down  to  table.  Louis  XV. 
was  a bad  king,  but  a delightful  companion ; when  he 
pleased,  his  conversation  was  full  of  attraction  for  boon- 
companions,  talkers,  and  voluptuaries.  The  king,  in 
short,  had  studied  life  carefully  in  its  most  agreeable  as- 
pects. He  ate  heartily,  made  his  guests  drink,  and  turned 
the  conversation  on  music. 

Bichelieu  caught  the  ball  at  the  rebound.  “Sire,”  said 
he,  “ if  music  makes  men  agree,  as  our  ballet-master  says, 
and  as  your  Majesty  seems  to  think,  will  you  say  as  much 
of  women  1 99 

“ Oh,  Duke  ! ” replied  the  king,  “ let  us  not  speak  of 
women.  From  the  Trojan  war  to  the  present  time,  women 
have  always  exercised  an  influence  contrary  to  that  of 
music.  You,  especially,  have  too  many  quarrels  to  com- 
pound with  them,  to  wish  to  see  that  subject  brought 
forward.  Among  others,  there  is  one,  and  that  not  the 
least  dangerous,  with  whom  you  are  at  daggers  drawn.” 

“ The  countess,  Sire  h Is  that  my  fault  1 ” 

“ Of  course  it  is.” 

“ Ah,  indeed  ! Your  Majesty,  I trust,  will  explain.” 

“ In  two  words,  and  with  the  greatest  pleasure,”  said 
the  king,  slyly. 

“ I listen,  Sire.” 

“ What ! she  offers  you  the  portfolio  of  I don’t  know 
which  department,  and  you  refuse,  because,  you  say,  she 
is  not  very  popular  ? ” 


132 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ I ? ” exclaimed  Bichelieu,  a good  deal  embarrassed  by 
the  tarn  the  conversation  was  taking. 

“ Certainly ! the  report  is  quite  public/’  said  the  king, 
with  that  feigned  good-nature  which  was  peculiar  to 
him.  “ I forget  now  who  told  it  to  me,  — probably  the 
gazette.” 

“ Well,  Sire  ! ” said  Bichelieu,  taking  advantage  of  the 
freedom  which  the  unusual  gayety  of  the  august  host 
afforded  his  guests,  “ I must  confess  that  on  this  occasion 
rumors,  and  even  the  gazettes,  have  reported  something  not 
quite  so  absurd  as  usual.” 

“ What ! 99  exclaimed  Louis  XV.,  “ then  you  have  really 
refused  a portfolio,  my  dear  Duke  ? ” 

Bichelieu,  it  may  easily  be  imagined,  was  in  an  awk- 
ward position.  The  king  well  knew  that  he  had  refused 
nothing ; but  it  was  necessary  that  Taverney  should  con- 
tinue to  believe  what  Bichelieu  had  told  him.  The  duke 
had  therefore  to  frame  his  reply  so  as  to  avoid  furnishing 
matter  for  amusement  to  the  king,  without  at  the  same 
time  incurring  the  reproach  of  falsehood,  which  was  already 
hovering  upon  the  baron’s  lips  and  twinkling  in  his  smile. 

“ Sire,”  said  Bichelieu,  “ pray  let  us  not  speak  of  effects, 
but  of  the  cause.  Whether  I have  or  have  not  refused  a 
portfolio,  is  a State  secret  which  your  Majesty  is  not 
bound  to  divulge  over  the  bottle  ; but  the  cause  for  which 
I should  have  refused  the  portfolio,  had  it  been  offered  to 
me,  is  the  important  point.” 

“ Oh,  oh,  Duke  ! ” said  the  monarch,  laughing ; “ and 
this  cause  is  not  a State  secret  ? ” 

“ No,  Sire,  and  especially  not  for  your  Majesty,  who  is 
at  this  moment  — I beg  pardon  of  the  divinity  — the  most 
amiable  earthly  Amphytrion  in  the  universe  for  my  friend 
the  Baron  de  Taverney  and  myself.  I have  no  secrets, 
therefore,  from  my  king.  I give  my  whole  soul  up  to 


KING  LOUIS  XV.’S  PRIVATE  SUPPER. 


133 


him,  for  I do  not  wish  it  to  be  said  that  the  King  of 
France  has  not  one  servant  who  would  tell  him  the  entire 
truth.” 

“ Let  us  hear  the  truth,  then,  Duke,”  said  the  king, 
while  Tavern  ey,  fearing  that  Richelieu  might  go  too  far, 
pinched  his  lips  and  composed  his  countenance  scrupu- 
lously after  the  king’s. 

“ Sire,  in  your  dominions  there  are  two  powers  which  a 
minister  must  obey,  — the  first  is  your  will ; the  second, 
that  of  your  Majesty’s  most  intimate  friends.  The  first 
power  is  irresistible,  — none  dare  to  rebel  against  it ; the 
second  is  yet  more  sacred,  for  it  imposes  duties  of  the 
heart  on  whosoever  serves  you.  It  is  termed  your  confb 
dence.  To  obey  it,  a minister  must  have  the  most  devoted 
regard  for  the  favorite  of  the  king.” 

Louis  XY.  laughed.  “Duke,”  said  he,  “that  is  a very 
good  maxim,  and  one  I am  delighted  to  hear  from  your 
lips;  but  I dare  you  to  proclaim  it  aloud  by  sound  of 
trumpet  upon  the  Pont  Neuf.” 

“ Oh,  I know,  Sire,”  said  Richelieu,  “ that  the  philoso- 
phers would  be  up  in  arms  ; but  I do  not  think  that  their 
objurgations  would  matter  much  to  your  Majesty  or  to  me. 
The  chief  point  is  that  the  two  dominant  wills  in  the 
kingdom  may  be  satisfied.  Well ! the  will  of  a certain 
person,  — I will  confess  it  openly  to  your  Majesty,  even 
should  my  disgrace,  that  is,  my  death,  be  the  consequence, 
— Madame  Dubarry’s  will  I could  not  obey.” 

Louis  was  silent. 

“ It  occurred  to  me  the  other  day,”  continued  Richelieu, 
“ to  look  around  in  your  Majesty’s  court ; and  in  truth  I 
saw  so  many  noble  girls,  so  many  women  of  dazzling 
beauty,  that  had  I been  king  of  France,  I should  have 
found  it  almost  impossible  to  choose.” 

Louis  turned  to  Taverney,  who,  seeing  things  take  such 


134 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


a favorable  turn  for  him,  sat  trembling  with  hope  and  fear, 
aiding  the  marshals  eloquence  with  eyes  and  breath,  as  if 
he  would  waft  forward  the  vessel  loaded  with  his  fortunes 
to  a safe  harbor. 

“ Come,  Baron,  what  is  your  opinion  ? ” said  the 
king. 

“ Sire,”  replied  Tavemey,  with  swelling  heart,  “ the 
duke,  as  it  seems  to  me,  has  been  saying  excellent  things 
to  your  Majesty.” 

“ Then  you  are  of  his  opinion  in  what  he  says  of  lovely 
girls  % ” 

“ In  fact,  Sire,  I think  there  are  indeed  very  lovely 
young  girls  at  the  French  court.” 

“ Then  you  are  of  his  opinion  'l 99 

“Yes,  Sire.” 

“ And,  like  him,  you  advise  me  to  choose  among  the 
beauties  of  the  court  ] ” 

“ I would  venture  to  confess  that  I am  of  the  marshal's 
opinion,  if  I dared  to  believe  that  it  was  also  your 
Majesty’s.” 

There  wras  a short  silence,  during  which  the  king  looked 
complaisantly  at  Taverney.  “ Gentlemen,”  said  he,  “ no 
doubt  I should  follow  your  advice,  if  I were  only  thirty 
years  of  age.  I should  have  a very  natural  predilection 
for  it ; but  I find  myself  at  present  rather  too  old  to  be 
credulous.” 

“ Credulous  ! pray,  Sire,  explain  the  meaning  of  the 
word.” 

“ To  be  credulous,  my  dear  Duke,  means  to  believe. 
Now,  nothing  will  make  me  believe  certain  things.” 

“ What  are  they  t ” 

“ That  at  my  age  it  is  possible  to  inspire  love.” 

“ Ah,  Sire  ! ” exclaimed  Richelieu,  “ until  this  moment 
I thought  youi  Majesty  was  the  most  polite  gentleman  in 


KING  LOUIS  XV.’S  PRIVATE  SUPPER. 


135 


your  dominions ; but  with  deep  regret  I see  that  I have 
been  mistaken.” 

“ How  so  1 99  asked  the  king,  laughing. 

“ Because,  in  that  case,  I must  be  as  old  as  Methuselah, 
as  I was  born  in  ?94.  Remember,  Sire,  I am  sixteen 
years  older  than  your  Majesty.” 

This  was  an  adroit  piece  of  flattery  on  the  duke’s  part. 
Louis  XV.  had  always  admired  this  man’s  age,  who  had 
outlived  so  many  younger  men  in  his  service  ; for  having 
this  example  before  him,  he  might  hope  to  reach  the  same 
advanced  period. 

“ Granted,”  said  Louis ; “ but  I hope  you  no  longer 
have  the  pretension  to  be  loved  for  yourself,  Duke  h ” 

“ If  I thought  not,  Sire,  I would  instantly  quarrel  with 
two  ladies  who  told  me  so  only  this  very  morning.” 

“Well!  Duke,”  said  Louis,  “we  shall  see;  Monsieur 
de  Taverney,  we  shall  see.  Youth  rejuvenates,  it  is  very 
true.” 

“ Yes,  yes,  Sire  ; and  we  must  not  forget  that  a power- 
ful constitution,  like  your  Majesty’s,  always  gains,  and 
never  loses.” 

“Yet  I remember,”  said  Louis,  “ that  my  predecessor, 
when  he  became  old,  no  longer  courted  women  with  the 
same  boldness.” 

“ Come,  come,  Sire  ! ” said  Richelieu.  “ Your  Majesty 
knows  my  great  respect  for  the  late  king,  who  twice  sent 
me  to  the  Bastille  ; but  that  ought  not  to  prevent  me  from 
saying  that  there  is  a vast  difference  between  the  ripe  age 
of  Louis  XV.  and  that  of  Louis  XI Ye  What  the  devil ! 
your  most  Christian  Majesty,  although  honoring  fully 
your  title  of  eldest  son  of  the  Church,  does  not  carry  asce- 
ticism so  far  as  to  forget  your  humanity  1 99 

“ Faith,  no  ! ” said  Louis.  “ I may  confess  it,  since 
neither  my  doctor  nor  confessor  is  present.” 


136 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Well,  Sire ! the  king,  your  grandfather,  frequently 
astonished  Madame  de  Maintenon,  who  was  even  older 
than  he,  by  his  excess  of  religious  zeal  and  his  innumerable 
penances.  I repeat  it,  Sire,  can  there  be  any  comparison 
made  between  your  two  Majesties  ? ” 

The  king  this  evening  was  in  a good  humor.  Riche- 
lieu^ words  acted  upon  him  like  so  many  drops  of  water 
from  the  fountain  of  youth.  Richelieu  thought  the  time 
had  come ; he  touched  Taverney ’s  knee  with  his. 

“ Sire,”  said  the  latter,  “ will  your  Majesty  deign  to 
accept  my  thanks  for  the  magnificent  present  you  have 
made  my  daughter  1 ” 

“You  need  not  thank  me  for  that,  Baron,”  said  the 
king.  “Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  pleased  me  by  her 
modest  and  ingenuous  grace.  I wish  my  daughters  had 
still  their  households  to  form ; certainly,  Mademoiselle 
Andree  — that  is  her  name,  is  it  not  — V’ 

“Yes,  Sire,”  said  Taverney,  delighted  that  the  king 
knew  his  daughter’s  Christian  name. 

“ A very  pretty  name.  Certainly  Mademoiselle  Andree 
should  have  been  the  first  upon  the  list ; but  every  post  in 
my  house  is  filled  up.  In  the  mean  time,  Baron,  you 
may  reckon  upon  my  protection  for  your  daughter.  I 
think  I have  heard  she  has  not  a rich  dowry  ] ” 

“ Alas  ! no,  Sire.” 

“ Well,  I will  make  her  marriage  my  especial  care.” 
Taverney  bowed  to  the  ground. 

“ Then  your  Majesty  must  be  good  enough,”  said  he, 
“ to  select  a husband ; for  I confess  that,  in  our  confined 
circumstances,  — our  almost  poverty  — ” 

“ Yes,  yes ; rest  easy  on  that  point,”  said  Louis.  “ But 
she  seems  very  young ; there  is  no  haste.” 

“ The  less,  Sire,  that  your  protegee  has  a horror  of 
marriage.” 


KING  LOUIS  XV.’S  PRIVATE  SUPPER. 


137 


u Ha ! ” said  Louis,  rubbing  his  hands  and  looking  at 
Richelieu.  “Well ! at  all  events.  Monsieur  de  Taverney, 
command  me  whenever  you  are  at  all  embarrassed.” 

Then,  rising,  the  king  beckoned  the  duke,  who  ap- 
proached. “ Was  the  little  one  satisfied  1 ” he  asked, 

“ With  what  ? ” 

“ With  the  casket/* 

“ Your  Majesty  must  excuse  my  speaking  low,  but  the 
father  is  listening,  and  he  must  not  overhear  what  I have 
to  tell  you.” 

“ Bah ! ” 

“No,  I assure  you,  Sire/* 

“ Well,  speak  ! ** 

“ Sire,  the  little  one  has  indeed  a horror  of  marriage ; 
but  of  one  thing  I am  certain,  — she  has  not  a horror  of 
your  Majesty.” 

Uttering  these  words  in  a tone  of  familiarity  which 
pleased  the  king  from  its  very  frankness,  the  marshal, 
with  his  little,  pattering  steps,  hastened  to  rejoin  Taver- 
ney, who,  from  respect,  had  moved  away  to  the  door  of 
the  gallery. 

Both  retired  by  the  gardens.  It  was  a lovely  evening. 
Two  servants  walked  before  them,  holding  torches  in  one 
hand,  and  with  the  other  pulling  aside  the  branches  of  the 
flowering  shrubs.  The  windows  of  Trianon  were  blazing 
with  light,  and  flitting  across  them  could  be  discerned  a 
crowd  of  joyous  figures,  the  honored  guests  of  the  dauphi- 
ness.  His  Majesty’s  band  gave  life  and  animation  to  the 
minuet,  for  dancing  had  begun  after  supper,  and  was  still 
continued. 

Concealed  in  a dense  thicket  of  lilac  and  snowball 
shrubs,  Gilbert,  kneeling  upon  the  ground,  was  gazing  at 
the  movements  of  the  shadows  through  the  transparent 
curtains.  A thunderbolt  cleaving  the  earth  would  scarcely 


138 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


have  distracted  the  attention  of  the  gazer,  so  much  was  he 
entranced  by  the  lovely  forms  he  was  following  with  his 
eyes  through  all  the  mazes  of  the  dance.  Nevertheless, 
when  Richelieu  and  Taverney  passed,  and  brushed  against 
the  thicket  in  which  this  night-bird  was  concealed,  the 
sound  of  their  voices,  and  above  all  a certain  word,  made 
Gilbert  raise  his  head ; for  this  word  was  an  all-important 
one  for  him. 

The  marshal,  leaning  upon  his  friend’s  arm,  and  bend- 
ing down  to  his  ear,  was  saying : “ Everything  well 
weighed  and  considered,  Baron,  — it  is  a hard  thing  to 
tell  you,  — but  you  must  at  once  send  your  daughter  to  a 
convent.” 

“ Why  so  ? 99  asked  the  baron. 

“ Because  I would  wager,”  replied  the  marshal,  “that 
the  king  is  in  love  with  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney.” 

At  these  words  Gilbert  started,  and  turned  paler  than 
the  flaky  snow-berries  which  at  his  abrupt  movement 
showered  down  upon  his  head  and  shoulders. 


PRESENTIMENTS. 


139 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

PRESENTIMENTS. 

The  next  day,  as  the  clock  at  Trianon  was  striking  twelve, 
Nicole’s  voice  was  heard  calling  Andree,  who  had  not  yet 
left  her  chamber,  “ Mademoiselle,  Mademoiselle,  here  is 
Monsieur  Philippe ! ” 

The  exclamation  came  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 
Andree,  at  once  surprised  and  delighted,  drew  her  muslin 
robe  closely  over  her  neck  and  shoulders,  and  hastened  to 
meet  the  young  man,  who  was  in  fact  dismounting  in  the 
court-yard  of  Trianon,  and  inquiring  of  the  servants  at 
what  time  he  could  see  his  sister. 

Andree  therefore  opened  the  door  in  person,  and  found 
herself  face  to  face  with  Philippe,  whom  the  officious 
Nicole  had  gone  to  meet  in  the  courtyard,  and  was  ac- 
companying up  the  stairs.  The  young  girl  threw  her 
arms  round  her  brother’s  neck,  and  they  entered  Andree’s 
apartments  together,  followed  by  Nicole. 

It  was  then  that  Andree  for  the  first  time  remarked  that 
Philippe  was  more  serious  than  usual,  that  his  smile  was 
not  free  from  sadness,  that  he  wore  his  elegant  uniform 
with  the  most  scrupulous  neatness,  and  that  he  held  a 
travelling  cloak  over  his  arm. 

“ What  is  the  matter,  Philippe  ? ” she  asked,  with  that 
instinct  of  tender  souls  to  which  a look  is  a sufficient 
revelation. 

“ My  sister,”  said  Philippe,  a this  morning  I received 
an  order  to  join  my  regiment.” 


140 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ And  you  are  going  1 ” 

“ And  I am  going.7' 

“ Oh  ! 77  said  Andree ; and  with  this  plaintive  exclama- 
tion all  her  courage,  and  almost  all  her  strength,  seemed 
to  desert  her.  Although  this  departure  was  a very  natu- 
ral occurrence,  and  one  which  she  might  have  foreseen, 
yet  she  felt  so  overpowered  by  the  announcement  that 
she  was  obliged  to  lean  for  support  on  her  brother’s 
arm. 

“ Good  heavens ! 77  exclaimed  Philippe,  astonished,  “ does 
this  departure  afflict  you  so  much,  Andree  1 You  know,  in 
a soldier’s  life,  it  is  a most  commonplace  event.77 

“ Yes,  yes,  it  is  in  truth  common,77  murmured  the  young 
girl.  “ And  whither  do  you  go,  brother  'l 77 

“ My  garrison  is  at  Rheirns.  You  see,  I have  not  a very 
long  journey  to  undertake.  But  it  is  probable  that  from 
there  the  regiment  will  return  to  Strasburg.77 

“ Alas ! 77  said  Andree,  “ and  when  do  you  set  out  ? 77 

“ The  order  commands  me  to  start  immediately.77 

“ You  have  come  to  bid  me  good-by,  then  1 77 

“ Yes,  sister.77 

“ A farewell ! 99 

“ Have  you  anything  particular  to  say  to  me,  Andree  1 99 
asked  Philippe,  fearing  that  this  extreme  dejection  might 
have  some  other  cause  than  his  departure. 

Andree  understood  that  these  words  were  meant  to  call 
her  attention  to  Nicole,  who,  astonished  at  Andr6e7s  ex- 
treme grief,  was  gazing  at  this  scene  with  much  surprise  : 
for,  in  fact,  the  departure  of  an  officer  to  his  garrison  was 
not  a catastrophe  to  cause  such  a flood  of  tears. 

Andree,  therefore,  noticed  at  the  same  instant  Philippe’s 
feelings  and  Nicole’s  surprise.  She  took  up  a mantle, 
threw  it  over  her  shoulders,  and  leading  her  brother  to 
the  staircase,  “ Come,”  said  she,  “ as  far  as  the  park-gates, 


PRESENTIMENTS. 


141 


Philippe.  I will  accompany  you  through  the  covered  alley. 
I have  indeed  many  things  to  tell  you,  brother.” 

These  words  were  equivalent  to  a dismissal  for  Nicole, 
who  returned  to  her  mistress's  chamber,  while  the  latter 
descended  the  staircase  with  Philippe. 

Andree  led  the  way  to  the  passage  which  still,  even  at 
the  present  day,  opens  into  the  garden ; but  although 
Philippe's  look  anxiously  questioned  her,  she  remained 
for  a long  time  silent,  leaning  upon  his  arm,  and  support- 
ing her  head  upon  his  shoulder.  But  at  last  her  heart 
was  too  full;  her  features  were  overspread  with  a death- 
like paleness,  a deep  sigh  escaped  her  ]ips,  and  tears 
rushed  from  her  eyes. 

“ My  dear  sister,  my  sweet  Andree  ! ” exclaimed  Philippe, 
“in  the  name  of  Heaven,  what  is  the  matter'?” 

“ My  friend,  my  only  friend  ! ” said  Andree,  “ you  de- 
part, you  leave  me  alone  in  this  great  world,  which  I 
entered  but  yesterday,  and  yet  you  ask  me  why  I weep  'l 
Ah  ! remember,  Philippe,  I lost  my  mother  at  my  birth ; 
it  is  dreadful  to  acknowledge  it,  but  I have  never  had  a 
father.  All  my  little  griefs,  all  my  little  secrets,  I could 
confide  to  you  alone.  Who  smiled  upon  me  ] Who  took 
care  of  me  1 Who  caressed  me  ? Who  rocked  me  in  my 
cradle  1 It  was  you.  Who  has  protected  me  since  I grew 
up  1 You.  Who  taught  me  that  God's  creatures  were 
not  cast  into  the  world  only  to  suffer  ? You,  Philippe,  — 
you  alone.  For  since  the  hour  of  my  birth,  I have  loved 
no  one  in  the  world  but  you,  and  no  one  but  you  has 
loved  me  in  return.  Oh,  Philippe,  Philippe  ! ” continued 
Andree,  sadly,  “ you  turn  away  your  head,  and  I can  read 
your  thoughts.  You  think  I am  young,  that  I am  beau- 
tiful, and  that  I am  wrong  not  to  trust  to  the  future  and 
to  love.  And  yet  you  see,  alas ! Philippe,  it  is  not  enough 
to  be  young  and  handsome,  for  no  one  thinks  of  me. 


142 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


" You  will  say  the  dauphiness  is  kind ; and  she  is  so. 
She  is  all  perfection ; at  least,  she  seems  so  in  my  eyes, 
and  I look  upon  her  as  a divinity.  But  it  is  exactly  be- 
cause she  holds  this  exalted  station  that  I can  feel  only 
respect  for  her,  and  not  affection.  Yet,  Philippe,  affection 
is  necessary  for  my  heart,  which,  if  always  thrust  back  on 
itself,  must  at  last  break.  My  father — I tell  you  nothing 
new,  Philippe  — my  father  is  not  only  no  protector  or 
friend,  but  I cannot  even  look  at  him  without  feeling 
terror.  Yes,  yes,  I fear  him,  Philippe;  and  still  more  now 
that  you  are  leaving  me.  Why  do  I fear  him  1 I do  not 
know.  Eh,  mon  Lieu / do  not  the  birds  of  the  air  and 
the  flocks  of  the  field  feel  and  dread  the  approaching 
storm  ? You  will  say  they  are  endowed  with  instinct ; 
but  why  will  you  deny  the  instinct  of  misfortune  to  our 
immortal  souls'?  Eor  some  time  past  everything  has  pros- 
pered with  our  family,  I know  it  well.  You  are  a cap- 
tain ; I am  in  the  household,  and  almost  in  the  intimacy, 
of  the  dauphiness  ; my  father,  it  is  said,  supped  last  night 
almost  tete-a-tete  with  the  king.  Well,  Philippe,  I repeat 
it,  even  should  you  think  me  mad,  all  this  alarms  me  more 
than  our  peaceful  poverty  and  obscurity  at  Taverney.” 

“ And  yet,  dear  sister,”  said  Philippe,  sadly,  “ you  were 
alone  there  also ; I was  not  with  you  there  to  console 
you.” 

“ Yes,  but  at  least  I was  alone,  — alone  with  the  mem- 
ories of  childhood.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  house  where 
my  mother  lived  and  breathed  her  last  would  bestow  upon 
me,  if  I may  so  speak,  a protecting  care.  All  there  was 
peaceful,  gentle,  friendly.  I could  see  you  depart  with 
calmness,  and  welcome  you  back  with  joy.  But  whether 
you  departed  or  returned,  my  heart  was  not  all  with  you ; 
it  was  attached  also  to  that  dear  house,  to  my  gardens,  to 
my  flowers,  to  the  whole  scene  of  which  formerly  you 


PRESENTIMENTS. 


143 


were  but  a part.  Now  you  are  all  to  me,  Philippe,  and 
when  you  leave  me  I am  indeed  alone.” 

“And  yet,  Andree,  you  have  now  a protection  far  more 
powerful  than  mine.” 

“ True.” 

“ A happy  future  before  you.” 

“ Who  can  tell  ] ” 

“ Why  do  you  doubt  it  ] ” 

“ I do  not  know.” 

“ This  is  ingratitude  toward  God,  sister.” 

“ Oh ! no,  thank  Heaven,  I am  not  ungrateful  to  God. 
Morning  and  evening  I offer  up  thanks  to  him  ; but  it 
seems  to  me  as  if,  instead  of  receiving  my  prayers  with 
favor,  every  time  I bend  the  knee,  a voice  from  on  high 
says  to  me,  6 Take  care,  young  girl,  take  care  ! ’ ” 

“ But  against  what  are  you  to  guard  ] Answer  me.  I 
will  admit  that  a misfortune  threatens  you  : have  you  any 
presentiment  of  the  nature  of  this  misfortune]  Do  you 
know  how  to  act  so  as  best  to  confront  it,  or  how  to  avoid 
it]” 

“ I know  nothing,  Philippe,  except  that  my  life  seems 
to  hang  by  a thread,  that  nothing  will  look  bright  to  me 
from  the  moment  of  your  departure.  In  a word,  it  seems 
as  if  during  my  sleep  I had  been  placed  on  the  declivity 
of  a precipice  too  steep  for  me  to  arrest  my  progress  when 
roused  to  a sense  of  my  danger ; that  I see  the  abyss,  and 
yet  am  dragged  down  ; and  that,  you  being  far  away,  and 
your  helping  hand  no  longer  ready  to  support  me,  I shall 
be  dashed  down  and  crushed  in  the  fall.” 

“ Dear  sister ! my  sweet  Andree  ! ” said  Philippe,  agi- 
tated in  spite  of  himself  by  the  expression  of  deep  and 
unaffected  terror  in  her  voice  and  manner,  “you  exagger- 
ate to  yourself  a tenderness  for  which  I feel  deeply  grateful. 
Yes,  you  will  lose  your  friend,  but  only  for  a time.  I 


144 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


shall  not  be  so  far  distant  but  that  you  can  send  for  me  if 
necessity  should  arise.  Besides,  remember  that  except  for 
your  chimerical  fears,  nothing  really  threatens  you.” 

Andree  placed  herself  in  her  brother’s  way.  “ Then, 
Philippe,”  said  she,  “ how  does  it  happen  that  you,  who 
are  a man,  and  gifted  with  so  much  more  strength,  are  at 
this  moment  as  sad  as  I am  ? Tell  me,  my  brother,  how 
do  you  explain  that  1 ” 

“ Easily,  dear  sister,”  said  Philippe,  arresting  Andree’s 
steps,  for  she  had  again  moved  forward,  on  ceasing  to 
speak.  “We  are  brother  and  sister  not  only  by  blood, 
but  in  heart  and  affection  ; therefore  we  have  lived  in  ail 
intimate  communion  of  thoughts  and  feelings,  which,  es- 
pecially since  our  arrival  in  Paris,  has  become  to  me  a 
delightful  necessity.  I break  this  chain,  my  dear  sister, 
or  rather  it  is  broken  by  others,  and  I feel  the  blow  in  my 
heart.  I am  therefore  sad,  but  only  for  the  moment, 
Andree.  I can  look  beyond  our  separation  ; I do  not 
believe  in  any  misfortune,  except  in  that  of  not  seeing  you 
for  some  months,  perhaps  for  a year.  I am  resigned,  and 
do  not  say  ‘ adieu/  but  rather,  1 au  revoir.’  ” 

In  spite  of  these  consolatory  words,  Andree  could  reply 
only  by  sobs  and  tears. 

“ Dear  sister,”  exclaimed  Philippe,  grieved  at  this  de- 
jection, which  seemed  so  incomprehensible  to  him,  “ you 
have  not  told  me  all,  — you  hide  something  from  me. 
In  Heaven’s  name,  speak  ! ” and  he  took  her  in  his  arms, 
pressing  her  to  his  heart,  and  gazing  earnestly  in  her  eyes. 

“ I ! ” said  she.  “ No,  no,  Philippe,  I assure  you  sol- 
emnly. You  know  that  all  the  most  secret  recesses  of  my 
heart  are  open  before  you.” 

“ Well,  then,  Andree,  for  pity’s  sake,  take  courage  ; do 
not  grieve  me  so.” 

“ You  are  right,”  said  she,  “ and  I am  mad.  Listen ! 


PRESENTIMENTS. 


145 


I never  had  a strong  mind,  as  you,  Philippe,  know  better 
than  any  one  ; I have  always  been  timid,  dreaming,  mel- 
ancholy. But  I have  no  right  to  make  so  tenderly  be- 
loved a brother  a sharer  in  my  fears,  above  all  when  he 
labors  to  give  me  courage,  and  proves  to  me  that  I am 
wrong  to  be  alarmed.  You  are  right,  Philippe ; it  is  true, 
everything  here  is  conducive  to  my  happiness.  Forgive 
me,  Philippe  ! You  see,  I dry  my  tears,  I weep  no  longer  \ 
I smile,  Philippe,  — I do  not  say  ‘ adieu/  but  rather,  ‘ au 
re  voir ; ’ ” and  the  young  maiden  tenderly  embraced  her 
brother,  hiding  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  to  conceal  from 
his  view  a tear  which  still  dimmed  her  eye,  and  which 
dropped  like  a pearl  upon  the  golden  epaulette  of  the 
young  officer. 

Philippe  gazed  upon  her  with  that  infinite  tenderness 
which  partakes  at  the  same  time  of  a father’s  and  a 
brother’s  affection.  “ Andree,”  said  he,  “ I like  to  see 
you  bear  yourself  thus  bravely.  Be  of  good  courage  ! I 
must  go,  but  the  courier  will  bring  you  a letter  eveiy 
week ; and  every  week  let  me  receive  one  from  you  in 
return.” 

“ Yes,  Philippe/’  said  Andree ; “ yes,  it  will  be  my  only 
happiness.  But  you  have  informed  my  father,  have  you 
not!” 

“ Of  what?” 

“ Of  your  departure.” 

“ Dear  sister,  it  was  the  baron  himself  who  brought  me 
the  minister’s  order  this  morning.  Monsieur  de  Taverney 
is  not  like  you,  Andree,  and  it  seems  will  easily  part  with 
me.  He  appeared  pleased  at  the  thought  of  my  depar- 
ture, and  in  fact  he  was  right.  Here  I can  never  get  for- 
ward, while  there  many  occasions  may  present  themselves.” 

“ My  father  is  glad  to  see  you  go  ? ” murmured  Andree. 
“ Are  you  not  mistaken,  Philippe  ? 99 

vol.  hi.  — 10 


146 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ He  has  you/’  replied  Philippe,  eluding  the  question  ; 
“ that  is  a consolation  for  him,  sister.” 

“ Do  you  think  so,  Philippe  1 He  never  sees  me.” 

“My  sister,  he  bade  me  tell  you  that  this  very  day, 
after  my  departure,  he  would  come  to  Trianon.  Believe 
me,  he  loves  you ; only  it  is  after  his  own  fashion.” 

“What  is  the  matter  now,  Philippe  1 You  seem 
embarrassed.” 

“ Dear  Andree,  I heard  the  clock  strike,  — what  time 
is  it?” 

“ A quarter  of  one.” 

“ Well,  dear  sister,  I seem  embarrassed  because  I ought 
to  have  been  on  the  road  an  hour  ago  ; and  here  we  are  at 
the  gate,  where  my  horse  is  waiting.  Therefore  — ” 
Andree  assumed  a calm  demeanor,  and  taking  her 
brother’s  hand,  “ Therefore,”  said  she,  in  a voice  too  firm 
to  be  quite  natural,  “ therefore,  brother,  adieu ! ” 

Philippe  gave  her  one  last  embrace. 

“ Au  re  voir,”  said  he  ; “ remember  your  promise.” 

“ What  promise  % ” 

“ One  letter  a week  at  least.” 

“ Oh  ! do  you  think  it  necessary  to  ask  it  1 ” 

She  pronounced  these  last  words  with  a violent  effort. 
The  poor  girl’s  voice  was  scarcely  audible. 

Philippe  waved  his  hand  to  her,  and  walked  quickly 
toward  the  gate.  Andree  followed  his  retreating  form 
with  her  eyes,  holding  in  her  breath  in  the  endeavor  to 
repress  her  sighs.  Philippe  mounted  his  horse,  shouted 
a last  farewell  from  the  other  side  of  the  gate,  and  was 
gone. 

Andree  remained  standing  motionless  till  he  was  out  of 
sight ; then  she  turned,  darted  like  a wounded  fawn 
among  the  shady  trees,  perceived  a bench,  and  had  only 
strength  sufficient  to  reach  it,  and  to  sink  on  it  powerless 


PRESENTIMENTS. 


147 


and  almost  lifeless.  Then,  heaving  a deep  and  heartrend- 
ing sigh,  she  exclaimed  : “ Oh,  my  God  I why  dost  thou 
leave  me  thus  alone  upon  earth  h ” 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  while  the  big  tears 
she  did  not  seek  to  restrain  made  their  way  between  her 
slender  fingers.  At  this  instant  a slight  rustling  was 
heard  amid  the  shrubs  behind  her.  Andree  thought  she 
heard  a sigh.  She  turned,  alarmed ; a melancholy  form 
stood  before  her.  It  was  Gilbert. 


148 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTEE  XV. 
gilbert’s  romance. 

As  pale,  as  despairing  as  Andree,  Gilbert  stood  downcast 
before  her.  At  the  sight  of  a man,  and  of  a stranger,  — 
for  such  he  seemed  at  first  sight  through  the  thick  veil  of 
tears  which  obscured  her  gaze,  — Andree  hastily  dried  her 
eyes,  as  if  the  proud  young  girl  would  have  blushed  to  be 
seen  weeping.  She  controlled  her  agitation,  and  restored 
calmness  to  her  marble  features,  only  an  instant  before 
quivering  with  the  shudder  of  despair.  Gilbert  was  much 
longer  in  regaining  his  calmness,  and  his  features  still  wore 
an  expression  of  grief  when  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney, 
looking  up,  at  last  recognized  him. 

“ Oh  ! Monsieur  Gilbert  again  ! ” said  Andree,  with  that 
trifling  tone  which  she  affected  to  assume  whenever  chance 
— as  she  believed  — brought  this  young  man  into  her 
presence. 

Gilbert  made  no  reply ; his  feelings  were  still  too  deeply 
moved.  The  grief  which  had  shaken  Andree’s  frame  to 
the  centre  had  violently  agitated  his  own.  It  was  Andree, 
therefore,  who  again  broke  the  silence,  wishing  to  have 
the  last  word  with  this  apparition.  “But  what  is  the 
matter,  Monsieur  Gilbert,”  she  inquired.  “ Why  do  you 
gaze  at  me  in  that  woe-begone  manner  ] Something  must 
grieve  you.  May  I ask  what  it  is  1 ” 

“ Do  you  wish  to  know  1 ” asked  Gilbert,  mournfully, 
for  he  felt  the  irony  concealed  beneath  this  appearance  of 
interest. 


GILBERT’S  ROMANCE. 


149 


“ Yes.” 

“Well,  what  grieves  me,  Mademoiselle,  is  to  see  you 
suffer,”  replied  Gilbert. 

“ And  who  told  you  that  I am  suffering,  Monsieur  ” 

“ I see  it.” 

“You  mistake,  Monsieur;  I am  not  suffering,”  said 
Andree,  passing  her  handkerchief  over  her  face. 

Gilbert  perceived  the  storm  rising,  but  he  resolved  to 
turn  it  aside  by  humility.  “ I entreat  your  pardon,  Made- 
moiselle,” said  he,  “ but  I heard  your  sobs.” 

“ Ah  ! you  were  listening  ; better  and  better  ! ” 

“ Mademoiselle,  it  was  by  accident,”  stammered  Gilbert, 
for  he  knew  that  he  was  telling  a falsehood. 

“ Accident ! I regret  exceedingly,  Monsieur  Gilbert, 
that  chance  should  have  brought  you  here.  But  even  so, 
may  I ask  in  what  manner  these  sobs  which  you  heard  me 
utter  grieved  you  1 Tell  me  that,  if  you  please  ] ” 

“ I cannot  bear  to  see  a woman  weep,”  said  Gilbert,  in  a 
tone  which  highly  displeased  Andree. 

“ Am  I then  a woman  in  Monsieur  Gilbert’s  eyes  ?”  re- 
plied the  haughty  young  girl.  “ I sue  for  no  one’s  sym- 
pathy, but  Monsieur  Gilbert’s  still  less  than  any  other’s.” 

“ Mademoiselle,”  said  Gilbert,  sadly,  “ you  do  wrong  to 
taunt  me  thus.  I saw  you  sad,  and  I felt  grieved.  I 
heard  you  say  that  now  Monsieur  Philippe  was  gone,  you 
would  be  alone  in  the  world.  Never,  Mademoiselle  ! for 
I am  beside  you ; and  never  did  a heart  beat  more  devoted 
to  you.  I repeat  it,  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  cannot  be 
alone  in  the  world  while  my  head  can  think,  my  heart 
beat,  or  my  arm  retains  its  strength.” 

While  he  spoke  these  words  Gilbert  was  indeed  an 
example  of  manly  strength  and  beauty,  although  he 
pronounced  them  with  all  the  humility  which  the  most 
sincere  respect  commanded.  But  it  was  fated  that  every- 


150 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


thing  which  the  young  man  did  should  displease  Andree, 
should  offend  her,  and  urge  her  to  offensive  retorts,  — as  if 
his  very  respect  were  an  insult,  and  his  prayers  a provoca- 
tion. At  first  she  attempted  to  rise,  that  she  might  second 
her  harsh  words  with  as  harsh  gestures  ; hut  a nervous 
shudder  retained  her  on  her  seat.  Besides,  she  reflected 
that  if  she  were  standing,  she  could  be  seen  from  a dis- 
tance, and  seen  talking  to  Gilbert.  She  therefore  remained 
seated ; for  she  was  determined,  once  for  all,  to  crush  the 
importunate  insect  before  her  under  foot.  She  therefore 
replied,  — 

“ I thought  I had  already  informed  you,  Monsieur  Gil- 
bert, that  you  are  highly  displeasing  to  me,  that  your 
voice  annoys  me,  that  your  philosophical  speeches  disgust 
me.  Then  why,  when  you  know  this,  do  you  still  persist 
in  addressing  me  h 99 

“ Mademoiselle,”  replied  Gilbert,  pale,  but  self-possessed, 
“ an  honest-hearted  woman  is  never  disgusted  by  sympa- 
thy. An  honest  man  is  the  equal  of  every  human  being ; 
and  I,  whom  you  maltreat  so  cruelly,  deserve,  more  than 
any  other,  perhaps,  the  sympathy  which  I regret  to  per- 
ceive you  do  not  feel  for  me.” 

At  this  word  “ sympathy,”  thus  twice  repeated,  Andree 
opened  her  large  eyes  to  their  utmost  extent,  and  fixed 
them  impertinently  upon  Gilbert.  “ Sympathy  ! ” said 
she ; “ sympathy  between  you  and  me,  Monsieur  Gilbert ! 
In  truth  I was  deceived  in  my  opinion  of  you.  I took 
you  for  insolent,  and  I find  you  are  even  less  than  that,  — 
you  are  only  an  idiot.” 

“ I am  neither  insolent  nor  an  idiot,”  said  Gilbert,  with 
an  apparent  calm,  which  it  must  have  caused  his  proud 
disposition  much  to  assume.  “ No,  Mademoiselle  ; nature 
has  made  me  your  equal,  and  chance  has  made  you  my 
debtor.” 


GILBERT’S  ROMANCE. 


151 


“ Chance  again  ! ” said  Andree,  sarcastically. 

tc  Perhaps  I should  have  said  Providence.  I never  in- 
tended to  speak  to  you  of  this,  but  your  insults  refresh 
ray  memory.” 

“ I your  debtor,  Monsieur  ? Your  debtor,  I think  you 
said  1 Explain  yourself,  Monsieur  Gilbert.” 

“ I should  be  ashamed  to  find  you  ungrateful,  Made- 
moiselle. God,  who  has  made  you  so  beautiful,  has  given 
you,  to  compensate  for  your  beauty,  sufficient  defects  with- 
out that.” 

This  time  Andree  rose. 

“ Stay  ! pardon  me  ! ” said  Gilbert ; “ at  times  you  irri- 
tate me  too  much,  and  then  I forget  for  a moment  the 
interest  with  which  you  inspire  me.” 

Andree  burst  into  a fit  of  laughter  so  prolonged  that  it 
was  calculated  to  rouse  Gilberts  anger  to  the  utmost ; but 
to  her  great  surprise  Gilbert  did  not  take  fire.  He  folded 
his  arms  on  his  breast,  retained  the  same  hostile  and 
determined  expression  in  his  fiery  glance,  and  patiently 
awaited  the  end  of  this  insulting  laugh. 

“ Mademoiselle,”  said  Gilbert,  coldly,  “ will  you  con- 
descend to  answer  one  question  ] Do  you  respect  your 
father  ? ” 

“ You  take  the  liberty  of  catechising  me,  it  seems,  Mon- 
sieur Gilbert  ] ” replied  the  young  girl,  with  sovereign 
hauteur. 

“ Yes,  you  respect  your  father,”  continued  Gilbert ; “ and 
it  is  not  on  account  of  his  good  qualities  or  his  virtues, 
but  simply  because  he  gave  you  life.  A father,  unfor- 
tunately, — and  you  must  know  it,  Mademoiselle,  — is 
respected  in  only  one  relation ; but  still  it  gives  him  a 
claim.  Even  more  ; for  this  sole  benefit,” — and  Gilbert, 
in  his  turn,  felt  himself  animated  by  an  emotion  of  scorn- 
ful pity,  — “you  are  bound  to  love  your  benefactor. 


152 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Well,  Mademoiselle,  this  being  established  as  a principle, 
why  do  you  insult  me  1 why  do  you  scorn  me  ? why  do 
you  hate  me,  — me,  who,  it  is  true,  did  not  give  you  life, 
but  who  saved  it  to  you  1 99 

“You  ! ” exclaimed  Andree  ; “ you  saved  my  life  ? ” 

“ Ah  ! you  did  not  even  dream  of  that,”  said  Gilbert,  “ or 
rather  you  have  forgotten  it.  That  is  very  natural ; it 
occurred  nearly  a year  ago.  Well,  Mademoiselle,  I must 
therefore  inform  you  of  it,  or  recall  it  to  your  memory. 
Yes,  I saved  your  life  at  the  risk  of  my  own.” 

“ At  least,  Monsieur  Gilbert,”  said  Andree,  deadly  pale, 
“ you  will  do  me  the  favor  of  telling  me  when  and  where.” 
“ The  day,  Mademoiselle,  when  a hundred  thousand  per- 
sons, crushed  one  against  another,  fleeing  from  the  fiery 
horses,  and  the  sabres  which  thinned  the  crowd,  left  a 
long  train  of  dead  and  dying  upon  the  Place  Louis  XV.” 
“Ah!  the  30th  of  May?” 

“Yes,  Mademoiselle.” 

Andree  seated  herself,  and  her  features  again  assumed  a 
pitiless  smile.  “ And  on  that  day,  you  say  you  risked 
your  life  to  save  mine,  Monsieur  Gilbert  ? ” 

“ I have  already  told  you  so.” 

“ Then  you  are  the  Baron  Balsamo  ; I beg  your  pardon, 
I was  not  aware  of  it.” 

“No,  I am  not  the  Baron  Balsamo,”  replied  Gilbert, 
with  flashing  eye  and  quivering  lip ; “ I am  the  poor  child 
of  the  people,  — Gilbert,  who  has  the  folly,  the  madness, 
the  misfortune  to  love  you ; who,  because  he  loved  you 
like  a madman,  like  a fool,  like  a sot,  followed  you  into 
the  crowd ; who,  separated  from  you  for  a moment,  recog- 
nized you  by  the  piercing  shriek  you  uttered  when  you 
lost  your  footing ; who,  forcing  his  way  to  you,  shielded 
you  with  his  arms  until  twenty  thousand  arms,  pressing 
against  his,  broke  their  strength ; who  threw  himself  upon 


GILBERT’S  ROMANCE. 


153 


the  stone  wall  against  which  you  were  about  to  be  crushed, 
to  afford  you  the  softer  repose  of  his  corpse ; and  perceiv- 
ing among  the  crowd  that  strange  man  who  seemed  to 
govern  his  fellow-men,  and  whose  name  you  have  just 
pronounced,  collected  all  his  strength,  all  his  energy,  and 
raised  you  in  his  exhausted  arms  that  this  man  might  see 
you,  seize  hold  of  you,  and  save  you  ! — Gilbert,  who  in 
yielding  you  up  to  a more  fortunate  protector  than  him- 
self, retained  nothing  but  a shred  of  your  dress,  which  he 
pressed  to  his  lips  ! And  it  was  time ; for  already  the 
blood  was  rushing  to  his  heart,  to  his  temples,  to  his 
brain.  The  rolling  tide  of  executioners  and  victims  swept 
over  him,  and  buried  him  beneath  its  waves,  while  you, 
like  an  angel  of  the  resurrection,  ascended  from  his  abyss 
toward  heaven.1  * 

Gilbert  in  these  hurried  words  had  shown  himself  as  he 
was,  — uncultivated,  simple,  almost  sublime,  in  his  resolu- 
tion as  in  his  love.  Notwithstanding  her  contempt, 
Andree  could  not  refrain  from  gazing  at  him  with  aston- 
ishment. For  a moment  he  believed  that  his  narrative 
had  been  as  irresistible  as  truth  — as  love.  But  poor 
Gilbert  did  not  take  into  his  calculations  incredulity,  — 
that  insincerity  of  hatred.  Andree,  who  hated  Gilbert, 
did  not  allow  herself  to  be  moved  by  any  of  the  forcible 
arguments  of  her  despised  lover.  She  did  not  reply  im- 
mediately, but  looked  at  Gilbert,  while  something  like  a 
struggle  took  place  in  her  mind. 

The  young  man,  therefore,  ill  at  ease  during  this 
freezing  silence,  felt  himself  obliged  to  add,  as  a sort  of 
peroration  : “ And  now,  Mademoiselle,  do  not  detest  me 
as  you  did  formerly;  for  now  it  would  not  only  be  injus- 
tice, but  ingratitude,  to  do  so.  I said  so  before,  and  I 
now  repeat  it.” 

At  these  words  Andree  raised  her  haughty  brow,  and  iu 


154 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


the  most  indifferent  and  cutting  tone  she  asked  : " How 
long,  Monsieur  Gilbert,  did  you  remain  under  Monsieur 
Rousseau’s  tutelage  1 ” 

“ Mademoiselle,”  said  Gilbert,  ingenuously,  “ I think 
about  three  months,  without  reckoning  the  few  days  of 
my  illness,  which  was  caused  by  the  accident  on  the  30th 
of  May.” 

“ You  misunderstand  me,”  said  she ; “I  did  not  ask  you 
whether  you  had  been  ill  or  not,  or  what  accidents  you 
may  have  received.  They  add  an  artistic  finish  to  your 
story,  but  otherwise  they  are  of  no  importance  to  me.  I 
merely  wished  to  tell  you  that,  having  resided  only  three 
months  with  the  illustrious  author,  you  have  profited 
well  by  his  lessons,  and  that  the  pupil  at  his  first  essay 
composes  romances  almost  worthy  of  his  master.” 

Gilbert  had  listened  with  calmness,  believing  that 
Andree  was  about  to  reply  seriously  to  his  impassioned 
narration ; but  at  this  stroke  of  cutting  irony  he  fell  from 
the  summit  of  his  buoyant  hopes  to  the  dust.  “ A 
romance!”  murmured  he,  indignantly;  “you  treat  what 
I have  told  you  as  a romance ! ” 

“Yes,  Monsieur,”  said  Andree,  “a  romance,  — I repeat 
the  word ; only  you  did  not  force  me  to  read  it,  — for  that 
I have  to  thank  you.  I deeply  regret  that,  unfortunately, 
I am  not  able  to  repay  its  full  value  ; but  I should  make 
the  attempt  in  vain,  — the  romance  is  invaluable.” 

“And  this  is  your  reply  1 ” stammered  Gilbert,  a pang 
darting  through  his  heart,  and  his  eyes  becoming  dim 
from  emotion. 

“ I do  not  reply  at  all,  Monsieur,”  said  Andree,  pushing 
him  aside,  that  she  might  pass  before  him. 

The  fact  was  that  Nicole  had  at  that  moment  made  her 
appearance  at  the  end  of  the  alley,  calling  her  mistress 
while  still  a considerable  distance  off,  in  order  not  to  in 


GILBERT’S  ROMANCE. 


155 


terrupt  this  interview  too  suddenly,  ignorant  as  she  was 
as  to  who  Andree’s  companion  might  be,  for  she  had  not 
recognized  Gilbert  through  the  foliage.  But  as  she  ap- 
proached, she  saw  the  young  man,  recognized  him,  and 
stood  astounded.  She  then  repented  not  having  made  a 
detour,  in  order  to  overhear  what  Gilbert  had  to  say  to 
Mademoiselle  de  Taverney.  The  latter  addressed  her  in 
a softened  voice,  as  if  to  mark  more  strongly  to  Gilbert  the 
haughtiness  with  which  she  had  spoken  to  him. 

“ Well,  child,”  said  she,  “ what  is  the  matter'?  ” 

“ The  Baron  de  Taverney  and  the  Due  de  Bichelieu 
have  come  to  present  their  respects  to  Mademoiselle,” 
replied  Nicole. 

“ Where  are  they  1 ” 

“ In  Mademoiselle’s  apartments.” 

“ Come,  then  ; ” and  Andree  moved  away. 

Nicole  followed,  not  without  throwing,  as  she  passed,  a 
sarcastic  glance  back  at  Gilbert,  who,  livid  with  agitation, 
and  almost  frantic  with  rage,  shook  his  clenched  hand  in 
the  direction  of  his  departing  enemy,  and  grinding  his 
teeth,  muttered : “ Oh,  creature  without  heart,  without 
soul ! I saved  your  life,  I concentrated  all  my  love  on 
you,  I extinguished  every  feeling  which  might  offend 
what  I called  your  purity  ; for  in  my  madness  you  were 
to  me  a holy  virgin,  like  the  Virgin  who  is  in  heaven. 
Now  that  I have  seen  you  more  nearly,  I find  you  are  no 
more  than  a woman,  and  I am  a man.  Oh,  one  day  or 
another,  Andree  de  Taverney,  I shall  avenge  myself ! 1 

have  had  you  twice  in  my  power,  and  twice  I have  re- 
spected you.  Andree  de  Taverney,  beware  of  the  third 
time  ! Au  revoir,  Andree.”  He  rushed  from  the  spot, 
bounding  through  the  thickest  of  the  shrubs  like  a young 
wolf  wounded  by  the  hunter,  who  turns  and  shows  his 
sharp  teeth  and  his  bloodshot  eyeballs. 


156 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER. 

When  she  reached  the  opposite . extremity  of  the  alley, 
Andree  saw  her  father  and  the  marshal  walking  up  and 
down  before  the  vestibule  waiting  for  her.  The  two 
friends  seemed  in  high  spirits,  and  as  they  stood  with 
their  arms  interlaced,  presented  a better  representation  of 
Orestes  and  Pylades  than  the  court  had  ever  witnessed. 
As  Andree  approached,  the  two  old  men  seemed  still 
more  joyous,  and  remarked  to  each  other  on  her  radiant 
beauty,  heightened  by  her  walk  and  by  the  emotion  she 
had  previously  undergone. 

The  marshal  saluted  Andree  as  he  would  have  saluted 
a declared  Madame  Pompadour.  This  distinction  did  not 
escape  Tavern ey,  who  was  delighted  at  it ; but  it  surprised 
Andree  by  its  mixture  of  respect  and  gallantry,  for  the 
cunning  courtier  could  put  as  many  shades  of  meaning 
into  a bow  as  Covielle  could  put  French  phrases  into 
a single  Turkish  word.  Andree  returned  the  marshal’s 
salutation,  made  one  equally  ceremonious  to  her  father, 
and  then,  with  fascinating  grace,  she  invited  both  to  fol- 
low her  to  her  apartment. 

The  marshal  admired  the  exquisite  neatness,  which  was 
the  only  ornament  of  the  furniture  and  architecture  of 
this  retreat.  With  a few  flowers  and  a little  white  mus- 
lin, Andree  had  made  her  rather  gloomy  chamber,  not  a 
palace,  but  a temple. 

The  duke  seated  himself  upon  an  armchair  covered  with 
green  chintz,  beneath  a Chinese  cornucopia,  from  which 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER, 


157 


drooped  bundles  of  perfumed  acacia  and  maple,  mingled 
with  iris  and  Bengal  roses.  Taverney  occupied  a similar 
chair;  and  Andree  sank  upon  a folding  stool,  her  arm 
resting  on  a harpsichord,  also  ornamented  with  flowers 
arranged  in  a large  Dresden  vase. 

“ Mademoiselle,”  said  the  marshal,  “I  come  as  the 
bearer,  on  the  part  of  his  Majesty,  of  the  compliments 
which  your  charming  voice  and  your  musical  talents  drew 
from  every  auditor  of  yesterday’s  rehearsal.  His  Majesty 
feared  to  arouse  jealousy  by  praising  you  too  openly  at  the 
time,  and  he  therefore  charged  me  to  express  to  you  the 
pleasure  you  have  caused  him.” 

Andree  blushed ; and  her  blush  made  her  so  lovely  that 
the  marshal  proceeded,  as  if  speaking  on  his  own  account. 
“ The  king  has  assured  me,”  said  he,  “ that  he  never  saw 
any  one  at  his  court  who  united  to  such  a high  degree  the 
gifts  of  mind  and  the  charms  of  personal  beauty.” 

“You  forget  those  of  the  heart,”  said  Taverney,  with 
effusion  ; “ Andree  is  the  best  of  daughters.” 

The  marshal  thought  for  a moment  that  his  old  friend 
was  about  to  weep.  Admiring  deeply  this  display  of 
paternal  sensibility,  he  exclaimed  : “ The  heart,  alas  ! My 
dear  friend,  you  alone  can  judge  of  the  tenderness  of 
which  Mademoiselle’s  heart  is  capable.  Were  I but 
twenty -five  years  of  age,  1 would  lay  my  life  and  my  for- 
tune  at  her  feet ! ” 

Andree  did  not  yet  know  how  to  receive  lightly  a 
courtier’s  homage.  Bichelieu  elicited  from  her  only  a 
murmur  without  significance. 

“ Mademoiselle,”  he  continued,  “ the  king  requests  you 
will  accept  a slight  testimony  of  his  satisfaction ; and  he 
has  charged  the  baron,  your  father,  to  transmit  it  to  you. 
What  reply  shall  I make  to  his  Majesty  from  you?” 

“ Monsieur,”  replied  Andree,  animated  by  no  feeling  but 


158 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


that  respect  which  is  due  to  a monarch  from  all  his  sub- 
jects, “ assure  his  Majesty  of  my  deep  gratitude ; tell  him 
that  he  honors  me  too  highly  by  deigning  to  think  of  me, 
and  that  I am  not  worthy  the  attention  of  so  powerful  a 
monarch.” 

Eichelieu  seemed  in  raptures  at  this  reply,  which  Andree 
pronounced  with  a firm  voice,  and  without  hesitation.  He 
took  her  hand,  kissed  it  respectfully,  and  devouring  her 
with  his  eyes,  “ A royal  hand,”  said  he,  “ a fairy  foot,  — 
mind,  purity,  resolution.  Ah,  Baron,  what  a treasure  ! 
It  is  not  a daughter  whom  you  have,  — it  is  a queen  ! ” 

With  these  words  he  retired,  leaving  Taverney  alone 
with  Andree,  his  heart  swelling  with  pride  and  hope. 

Whoever  had  seen  this  advocate  of  antiquated  theories, 
this  sceptic,  this  scoffer,  inhaling  with  delight  the  atmos- 
phere of  favor  through  its  most  disreputable  channel, 
would  have  said  that  God  had  blinded  at  the  same  mo- 
ment both  his  intellect  and  heart.  Taverney  alone  might 
have  replied,  with  reference  to  this  change,  “ It  is  not  I 
who  have  changed,  — it  is  the  times.” 

He  remained,  then,  seated  near  Andree,  and  could  not 
help  feeling  somewhat  embarrassed  ; for  the  young  girl, 
with  her  air  of  unconquerable  serenity,  and  her  clear,  lim- 
pid, unfathomable  look,  seemed  as  if  she  would  penetrate 
his  most  secret  thoughts. 

“ Did  not  Monsieur  de  Eichelieu,  Monsieur,  say  that 
his  Majesty  had  intrusted  you  with  a testimony  of  his 
satisfaction  1 May  I ask  what  it  is  ? ” 

“ Ah  ! ” thought  Taverney,  “ she  is  curious,  — so  much 
the  better  ! I could  not  have  expected  it.  So  much  the 
better  ! ” 

He  drew  the  casket,  which  the  marshal  had  given  him 
the  evening  before,  slowly  from  his  pocket,  just  as  a kind 
papa  produces  a paper  of  bonbons  or  a toy,  which  the 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER. 


159 


children  have  devoured  with  their  eyes  before  their  hands 
can  reach  it. 

“ Here  it  is,”  said  he. 

“ Ah,  jewels  ! ” said  Andree. 

“ Are  they  to  your  taste  I ” 

It  was  a set  of  pearls  of  great  value.  Twelve  large  dia- 
monds connected  together  the  rows  of  pearls,  while  a 
diamond  clasp,  earrings,  and  a tiara  of  the  same  precious 
material,  made  the  present  worth  at  least  thirty  thousand 
crowns. 

“ Good  heavens,  father  ! ” exclaimed  Andree. 

“Well?” 

“ It  is  too  handsome.  The  king  has  made  some  mis- 
take. I should  be  ashamed  to  wear  that.  I have  no 
dresses  to  match  the  splendor  of  these  diamonds.” 

“ Oh  ! complain  of  it,  I beg  ! ” said  Taverney,  ironically. 

“You  do  not  understand  me,  Monsieur.  I regret 
that  I cannot  wear  these  jewels  because  they  are  too 
beautiful.” 

“ The  king,  who  gives  the  casket,  Mademoiselle,  is  suffi- 
ciently the  grand  seigneur  to  add  the  dresses.” 

“ But,  Monsieur,  this  goodness  on  the  king’s  part  — ” 

“ Do  you  not  think  I have  deserved  it  by  my 
services  1 ” 

“ Ah  ! pardon  me,  Monsieur ; that  is  true,”  said  Andree, 
drooping  her  head,  but  not  quite  convinced. 

After  a moment’s  reflection  she  closed  the  casket.  “ I 
shall  not  wear  these  diamonds,”  said  she. 

“ And  why  not  ? ” said  Taverney,  uneasily. 

“ Because,  my  dear  father,  you  and  my  brother  are  in 
want  of  every  necessity,  and  this  superfluity  offends  my 
eyes  when  I think  of  your  embarrassments.” 

Taverney  smiled,  and  pressed  her  hand.  “ Oh  ! ” said 
he,  “ do  not  think  of  that,  my  daughter.  The  king  has 


160 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


done  more  for  me  than  for  you.  We  are  in  favor,  my  dear 
child.  It  would  neither  he  respectful  as  a subject  nor 
grateful  as  a woman  to  appear  before  his  Majesty  without 
the  present  he  has  made  you.” 

“ I will  obey,  Monsieur.” 

“ Yes,  but  you  must  obey  as  if  it  gave  you  pleasure  to 
do  so.  These  ornaments  seem  not  to  be  to  your  taste.” 

“ I am  no  judge  of  diamonds,  Monsieur.” 

“Learn,  then,  that  the  pearls  alone  are  worth  fifty 
thousand  francs.” 

Andree  clasped  her  hands.  “Monsieur,”  said  she,  “it 
is  most  strange  that  his  Majesty  should  make  me  such  a 
present.  Reflect ! ” 

“ I do  not  understand  you,  Mademoiselle,”  replied 
Taverney,  dryly. 

“ If  I wear  these  jewels,  I assure  you,  Monsieur,  every 
one  will  be  greatly  surprised.” 

“ Why  ? ” asked  Taverney,  in  the  same  tone,  and  with 
a cold  and  imperious  glance  which  made  Andree  lower 
her  eyes. 

“ I feel  a scruple.” 

“ Mademoiselle,  you  must  confess  that  it  is  strange  you 
should  entertain  scruples,  when  even  I,  your  father,  feel 
none.  Give  me  your  young  modest  girls  for  seeing  evil 
and  finding  it  out,  however  closely  hidden  it  is,  and  when 
none  other  had  remarked  it ! None  like  maidenly  and 
simple  girls  for  making  old  grenadiers  like  myself  blush  ! ” 
Andree  hid  her  blushing  face  in  her  lovely  white  hands. 
“ Oh  ! my  brother,”  she  murmured  to  herself,  “ why  are 
you  already  so  far  away  from  me  1 ” 

Did  Taverney  hear  these  words,  or  did  he  divine  their 
purport  with  that  wonderful  perspicacity  which  we  know 
he  possessed  ? We  cannot  tell ; but  he  immediately 
changed  his  tone,  and  taking  Andree's  hand  in  his, 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER. 


161 


“ Come,  my  child,”  said  he,  " is  not  your  father  your 
friend  ? ” 

A sweet  smile  chased  the  shadow  from  Andree’s  brow. 

“ Shall  I not  be  here  to  love  you,  — to  advise  you  ] 
Are  you  not  proud  to  contribute  to  my  happiness  and  that 
of  your  brother  1 ” 

“ Oh,  yes  ! ” said  Andree. 

The  baron  fixed  a caressing  look  upon  his  daughter. 

“ Well,”  said  he,  “ you  shall  be,  as  Monsieur  de  Riche- 
lieu said  just  now,  the  queen  of  Taverney.  The  king  has 
distinguished  you,  and  the  dauphiness  also,”  added  he, 
hastily.  “ In  your  intimacy  with  these  two  august  per- 
sonages, you  will  found  our  future  fortunes  by  making  them 
happy.  The  friend  of  the  dauphiness  and  — of  the  king  ! 
What  a glorious  career  ! You  have  superior  talents  and 
unrivalled  beauty,  a pure  and  healthy  mind,  untainted  by 
avarice  and  ambition.  Oh,  my  child,  what  a part  you 
might  play  ! Do  you  remember  the  maiden  who  soothed 
the  last  moments  of  Charles  YI.  1 Her  name  is  cherished 
in  France.  Do  you  remember  Agnes  Sorel,  who  restored 
the  honor  of  the  French  crown  ] All  good  Frenchmen  re- 
spect her  memory.  Andree,  you  will  be  the  support  of 
the  old  age  of  our  glorious  monarch.  He  will  cherish  you 
as  his  daughter,  and  you  will  reign  in  France  by  the 
divine  right  of  beauty,  courage,  and  fidelity  ! ” 

Andree  opened  her  eyes  wide  with  astonishment.  The 
baron  resumed,  without  giving  her  time  to  reflect.  “ With 
a single  look  you  will  drive  away  these  wretched  creatures 
who  dishonor  the  throne ; your  presence  will  purify  the 
court.  To  your  generous  influence  the  nobility  of  the 
kingdom  will  owe  the  return  of  pure  morals,  politeness, 
and  real  gallantry.  My  daughter,  you  may  be,  you  must 
be,  the  regenerating  star  of  your  country,  and  a crown  of 
glory  to  your  name.” 
vol.  m.  — ll 


162 


MEMOIRS  OE  A PHYSICIAN. 


“But,”  said  Andree,  all  bewildered,  “what  must  I do 
to  effect  all  this  ? ” 

The  baron  reflected  for  a moment.  “ Andree,”  said  he, 
“ I have  often  told  you  that  in  this  world  you  must  force 
men  to  be  virtuous  by  making  them  love  virtue.  Sullen, 
melancholy,  sermonizing  virtue  makes  even  those  fly  who 
wish  most  to  approach  her.  Lend  to  your  virtue  all  the 
allurements  of  coquetry,  — even  of  vice.  It  is  an  easy 
task  for  a talented  and  high-minded  girl  such  as  you  are. 
Make  yourself  so  lovely  that  the  court  will  talk  only  of 
you ; make  yourself  so  agreeable  to  the  king  that  he  can- 
not do  without  you.  Be  so  reserved  and  discreet  toward 
all,  except  his  Majesty,  that  people  will  soon  attribute  to 
you  all  that  power  which  you  cannot  fail  ultimately  to 
obtain.” 

“ I do  not  exactly  understand  your  last  advice,”  said 
Andree. 

“ Trust  yourself  to  my  guidance ; you  will  fulfil  my 
wishes  without  understanding  them,  — the  best  plan  for 
such  a wise  and  generous  creature  as  you  are.  But,  by  the 
by,  to  enable  you  to  put  in  practice  my  first  counsel,  I 
must  furnish  your  purse.  Take  these  hundred  louis-cTor 
and  dress  in  a manner  worthy  of  the  rank  to  which  you 
belong,  since  the  king  has  done  us  the  honor  to  distinguish 
us.” 

Taverney  gave  the  hundred  louis  to  his  daughter,  kissed 
her  hand,  and  left  her.  He  returned  with  rapid  steps 
along  the  alley  by  which  he  had  come,  so  much  engrossed 
in  his  reflections  that  he  did  not  perceive  Nicole  in  close 
conference  with  a nobleman  at  the  extremity  of  the  Bos- 
quet  des  Amours. 


WHAT  ALTHOTAS  WANTED. 


163 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

WHAT  ALTHOTAS  WANTED  TO  COMPLETE  HIS  ELIXIR. 

On  the  day  after  that  on  which  this  conversation  took 
place,  at  about  four  o’clock  in  the  afternoon,  Balsamo  was 
seated  in  his  cabinet,  in  the  Rue  Saint  Claude,  occupied 
in  reading  a letter  which  Fritz  had  just  brought  him. 
The  letter  was  without  signature.  He  turned  it  over  and 
over  in  his  hands.  “ I know  this  writing,”  said  he,  — 
“ large,  irregular,  slightly  tremulous,  and  full  of  faults  in 
orthography ; ” and  he  read  it  once  more.  It  ran  as 
follows : — 

Monsieur  le  Comte,  — A person  who  consulted  you  some 
time  before  the  fall  of  the  late  ministry,  and  who  had  consulted 
you  a long  time  previously,  will  wait  upon  you  to-day,  in  order 
to  have  another  consultation.  Will  your  numerous  occupations 
permit  you  to  grant  this  person  a quarter  of  an  hour  between 
four  and  five  this  evening  ? 

After  reading  this  for  the  second  or  third  time,  Balsamo 
fell  back  into  his  train  of  reflection.  “ It  is  not  worth 
while  to  consult  Lorenza  for  such  a trifle/’  said  he ; “ be- 
sides, can  I no  longer  divine  anything  by  myself?  The 
writing  is  large, — a sign  of  aristocracy;  irregular  and 
trembling,  — a sign  of  age  ; full  of  faults  in  orthography, 
— it  must  be  a courtier.  Ah,  stupid  creature  that  I am  ! 
it  is  the  Due  de  Richelieu.  Most  certainly  I shall  have 
an  hour  at  your  service,  Monsieur  le  Due,  — an  hour  did 
I say  ? — a day  ! Make  my  time  your  own.  Are  you  not, 


164 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


without  knowing  it,  one  of  my  mysterious  agents,  one  of 
my  familiar  demons?  Do  we  not  both  pursue  the  same 
task  ? Do  we  not  both  shake  the  monarchy  at  the  same 
time,  — * you  by  making  yourself  its  presiding  genius,  I by 
declaring  myself  its  enemy?  Come,  then,  Duke,  I am 
ready  ! ” and  Balsamo  consulted  his  watch,  to  see  how 
long  he  must  yet  wait  for  the  duke. 

At  that  moment  a bell  sounded  in  the  cornice  of  the 
ceiling.  “ What  can  be  the  matter  ? ” said  Balsamo, 
starting.  “ Lorenza  calls  me ; she  wishes  to  see  me.  Can 
anything  unpleasant  have  happened  to  her?  or  is  it  a 
return  of  those  fits  of  passion  which  I have  so  often  wit- 
nessed, and  of  which  I have  been  at  times  the  victim? 
Yesterday  she  was  thoughtful,  gentle,  resigned  ; she  was 
as  I love  to  see  her.  Poor  child  ! I must  go  to  her.” 
He  arranged  his  dress,  glanced  at  the  mirror,  to  see  if  his 
hair  was  not  too  much  in  disorder,  and  proceeded  toward 
the  stairs,  after  having  replied  to  Lorenza’s  request  as  she 
had  made  it,  by  ringing  a bell. 

But,  according  to  his  custom,  Balsamo  paused  in  the 
apartment  adjoining  that  occupied  by  the  young  woman ; 
and  turning,  with  his  arms  crossed,  toward  the  place  where 
he  supposed  her  to  be,  he  commanded  her  to  sleep,  with 
that  powerful  will  which  recognized  no  obstacles.  Then, 
as  if  doubting  his  own  power,  or  as  if  he  thought  it  ne- 
cessary to  redouble  his  precautions,  he  looked  into  the 
apartment  through  an  almost  imperceptible  crevice  in  the 
woodwork. 

Lorenza  was  sleeping  upon  a couch,  where,  no  doubt, 
tottering  under  the  influence  of  her  master’s  will,  she 
had  sought  a support  for  her  sinking  limbs.  A painter 
could  not  have  suggested  a more  poetic  attitude.  Panting 
and  subdued  beneath  the  power  of  the  subtle  fluid  which 
Balsamo  had  poured  upon  her,  Lorenza  seemed  like  one  of 


WHAT  ALTHOTAS  WANTED. 


165 


those  beautiful  Ariadnes  of  Yanloo,  with  rounded  breasts, 
and  features  expressive  of  fatigue  or  despair. 

Balsamo  entered  by  his  usual  passage,  and  stopped  for  a 
moment  before  her,  to  contemplate  her  sleeping  counte- 
nance. He  then  awoke  her ; she  was  too  dangerous  thus. 

As  she  opened  her  eyes,  a piercing  glance  escaped  from 
between  the  half-closed  lids  ; then,  as  if  to  collect  her 
scattered  thoughts,  she  smoothed  back  her  long  hair  with 
her  hands,  dried  her  lips,  moist  with  slumber,  and  search- 
ing deeply  her  memory,  she  brought  together  her  scattered 
recollections. 

Balsamo  looked  at  her  with  some  anxiety.  He  had 
been  long  accustomed  to  the  sudden  transition  from  win- 
ning love  to  outbursts  of  anger  and  hatred ; but  this 
appearance,  to  which  he  was  entirely  unused,  — the  calm- 
ness with  which  Lorenza  on  this  occasion  received  him, 
instead  of  with  one  of  her  customary  bursts  of  hatred,  — 
announced  something  more  serious,  perhaps,  than  he  had 
yet  witnessed. 

Lorenza  sat  up  on  the  couch  ; and  fixing  her  deep,  soft 
eyes  upon  Balsamo,  she  said,  “ Pray  be  good  enough  to 
take  a seat  near  me.” 

Balsamo  started  at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  expressing,  as 
it  did,  such  unusual  mildness. 

“Near  you  ! ” said  he.  “You  know,  my  Lorenza, 
that  I have  but  one  wish,  — to  pass  my  life  at  your 
feet.” 

“ Monsieur,”  replied  Lorenza,  in  the  same  tone,  “ I pray 
you  to  be  seated,  — although,  indeed,  I have  not  much  to 
say  to  you;  but,  short  as  it  is,  I shall  say  it  better,  I 
think,  if  you  are  seated.” 

“Now,  as  ever,  my  beloved  Lorenza,  I will  do  as  you 
wish ; ” and  he  took  a chair  near  Lorenza,  who  was  still 
seated  upon  the  couch. 


166 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Monsieur,”  said  she,  fixing  her  heavenly  eyes  upon 
Balsamo,  “ I have  summoned  you  to  request  from  you  a 
favor.” 

“ Oh,  my  Lorenza  ! ” exclaimed  Balsamo,  more  and  more 
delighted,  “ anything  you  wish  ! Speak  ; you  shall  have 
everything ! ” 

“ I wish  for  only  one  thing ; but  I warn  you  that  I wish 
for  that  most  ardently.” 

“ Speak,  Lorenza,  speak  ! should  it  cost  my  fortune,  or 
half  my  life  ! ” 

“ It  will  cost  you  nothing,  Monsieur,  but  a moment  of 
your  time,”  replied  the  young  woman. 

Balsamo,  enchanted  with  the  turn  the  conversation  was 
taking,  was  already  tasking  his  fertile  imagination  to  sup- 
ply a list  of  those  wishes  which  Lorenza  was  likely  to  form, 
and  above  all,  those  which  he  could  satisfy.  “ She  will, 
perhaps,”  thought  he,  “ ask  for  a servant  or  a companion. 
Well,  even  this  immense  sacrifice  — for  it  would  compro- 
mise my  secret  and  my  friends  — I will  make,  for  the  poor 
child  is  in  truth  very  unhappy  in  her  solitude.  Speak 
quickly,  my  Lorenza ! ” said  he  aloud,  with  a smile  full 
of  love. 

“ Monsieur,”  said  she,  “you  are  aware  that  I am  dying 
of  melancholy  and  weariness.” 

Balsamo  sighed,  and  bent  his  head  in  token  of  assent. 

“My  youth,”  continued  Lorenza,  “is  wasting;  my  days 
are  one  long  sigh,  — my  nights  a continual  terror.  I am 
growing  old  in  solitude  and  anguish.” 

“Your  life  is  what  you  have  made  it,  Lorenza,”  said 
Balsamo ; “ it  is  not  my  fault  that  this  life  which  you  have 
made  so  sad  is  not  one  to  make  a queen  envious.” 

“Be  it  so.  Therefore,  you  see,  I have  recourse  to  you 
in  my  distress.” 

“ Thanks,  Lorenza  ! ” 


WHAT  ALTHOTAS  WANTED. 


167 


“You  are  a good  Christian,  you  have  sometimes  told 
me,  although  — ” 

“ Although  you  think  me  a lost  soul,  you  would  say.  I 
complete  your  thought,  Lorenza." 

“Suppose  nothing  except  what  1 tell  you,  Monsieur; 
and  I beg  you  will  conjecture  nothing.” 

“ Proceed,  then.” 

“Well,  instead  of  leaving  me  buried  in  these  angers 
and  despairs,  grant  me,  since  I am  of  no  service  to 
you  — ” 

She  stopped  to  glance  at  Balsamo ; but  he  had  regained 
his  command  over  himself,  and  she  saw  only  a cold  look 
and  contracted  brow.  She  became  animated  as  she  met 
his  almost  threatening  eye.  “ Grant  me,”  she  continued, 
“ not  liberty,  — for  I know  that  the  will  of  God,  or  rather 
your  will,  which  seems  all-powerful  to  me,  condemns  me 
to  perpetual  captivity,  — but  at  least  to  see  human  faces, 
to  hear  other  voices  than  yours ; permit  me,  in  short,  to 
go  out,  to  walk,  to  have  a part  in  life.” 

“ I had  foreseen  this  request,  Lorenza,”  said  Balsamo, 
taking  her  hand ; “ and  you  know  that  long  since  your 
wish  has  been  also  my  own.” 

“ Well,  then  ! ” exclaimed  Lorenza. 

“ But,”  resumed  Balsamo,  “ you  have  yourself  prevented 
it.  Like  a madman  that  I was,  — and  every  man  who 
loves  is  a madman,  — I allowed  you  to  penetrate  into 
some  of  my  secrets,  both  of  science  and  politics.  You 
know  that  Althotas  has  discovered  the  philosopher’s  stone, 
and  seeks  the  elixir  of  life.  You  know  that  I and  my 
companions  conspire  against  the  monarchies  of  the  world. 
The  first  of  these  secrets  would  cause  me  to  be  burned  as  a 
sorcerer ; the  other  would  be  sufficient  to  condemn  me  to 
be  broken  on  the  wheel  for  high  treason.  Besides,  you 
have  threatened  me,  Lorenza ; you  have  told  me  that  you 


168 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


would  try  every  means  to  regain  your  liberty,  and  this 
liberty  once  regained,  that  the  first  use  you  would  make 
of  it  would  be  to  denounce  me  to  Monsieur  de  Sartines. 
Did  you  not  say  so  ] ” 

“ What  can  you  expect  ] At  times  I lash  myself  to 
fury,  and  then  I am  half-mad.” 

“ Are  you  calm  and  sensible  now,  Lorenza ; and  can  we 
converse  quietly  together  ] ” 

“ I hope  so.” 

“ If  I grant  you  the  liberty  you  desire,  shall  I find  in 
you  a devoted  and  submissive  wife,  a faithful  and  gentle 
companion]  You  know,  Lorenza,  this  is  my  most  ardent 
wish.” 

The  young  woman  was  silent. 

“ In  one  word,  will  you  love  me  ] ” asked  Balsamo, 
with  a sigh. 

“I  am  unwilling  to  promise  what  I cannot  perform,” 
said  Lorenza ; “ neither  love  nor  hatred  depends  upon 
ourselves.  I hope  that  God,  in  return  for  your  good  ac- 
tions, will  permit  my  hatred  toward  you  to  take  flight, 
and  love  to  return.” 

“ Unfortunately,  Lorenza,  such  a promise  is  not  a guar- 
antee which  will  enable  me  to  trust  you.  I require  a 
positive,  sacred  oath,  to  break  which  would  be  a sacrilege, 
— an  oath  which  binds  you  in  this  world  as  in  the  next ; 
which  involves  your  death  in  this  world  and  your  damna- 
tion in  that  which  is  to  come.” 

Lorenza  was  silent. 

“Will  you  take  this  oath]” 

Lorenza  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  her  breast  heaved 
under  the  influence  of  contending  emotions. 

“Take  this  oath,  Lorenza,  as  I shall  dictate  it,  with 
the  solemnity  in  which  I shall  clothe  it,  and  you  shall  be 
free.” 


WHAT  ALTHOTAS  WANTED. 


169 


“What  must  I swear,  Monsieur  1” 

“ Swear  that  you  will  never,  under  any  pretext,  betray 
what  has  come  to  your  knowledge  relative  to  the  secrets 
of  Althotas.” 

“ Yes,  I will  swear  it.” 

“ Swear  that  you  will  never  divulge  what  you  know  of 
our  political  meetings  *?  ” 

“ I will  swear  that  also.” 

“ With  the  oath  and  in  the  form  which  I shall  dictate  1” 
“ Yes.  Is  that  all *?  ” 

“ No ; swear,  — and  this  is  the  principal  thing,  Lorenza  ! 
for  the  other  matters  would  endanger  only  my  life,  while 
upon  what  I am  about  to  say  depends  my  entire  happi- 
ness, — swear  that  you  will  never  leave  me,  Lorenza ! 
Swear  this,  and  you  are  free ! ” 

The  young  woman  started  as  if  cold  steel  had  pierced 
her  heart. 

“ And  in  what  form  must  the  oath  be  taken*?  ” 

“We  will  enter  a church  together,  and  communicate 
at  the  same  altar.  You  will  swear  on  the  host  never  to 
betray  anything  relating  to  Althotas  or  my  companions. 
You  will  swear  never  to  leave  me.  We  will  then  divide 
the  host  in  two,  and  each  will  take  the  half,  you  swearing 
before  God  that  you  will  never  betray  me,  and  I that  I 
will  ever  do  my  utmost  to  make  you  happy.” 

“ No  ! ” said  Lorenza  ; “ such  an  oath  is  a sacrilege.” 

“ An  oath,  Lorenza,  is  never  a sacrilege,”  replied  Bal- 
samo,  sadly,  “ but  when  you  make  it  with  the  intention 
of  not  keeping  it.” 

“ I will  not  take  this  oath,”  said  Lorenza ; “ I should 
fear  to  imperil  my  soul.” 

“ It  is  not  — I repeat  it  — in  taking  an  oath  that  you 
imperil  your  soul ; it  is  in  breaking  it.” 

“ I will  not  do  it.” 


170 


MEMOTRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Then  have  patience,  Lorenza,”  said  Balsamo,  without 
anger,  but  with  the  deepest  sadness. 

Lorenza’s  brow  darkened  like  an  overshadowed  plain 
when  a cloud  passes  between  it  and  the  sun. 

“ Ah  ! you  refuse  1 ” said  she. 

“ Not  so,  Lorenza  ; it  is  you  who  refuse.” 

A nervous  movement  indicated  all  the  impatience  the 
young  woman  felt  at  these  words. 

“ Listen,  Lorenza  ! ” said  Balsamo.  “ This  is  what  I 
will  do  for  you,  and,  believe  me,  it  is  much.” 

“ Speak,”  said  the  young  girl,  with  a bitter  smile. 
“ Let  me  see  how  far  that  generosity  of  which  you  make 
so  much  will  extend.” 

“God,  chance,  or  fate  — call  it  what  you  will,  Lo- 
renza, — has  united  us  by  an  indissoluble  bond  ; do  not 
attempt  to  break  this  bond  in  this  life,  for  death  alone  can 
accomplish  that.” 

“ Proceed ; I know  that,”  said  Lorenza,  impatiently. 

“Well,  in  one  week,  Lorenza, — whatever  it  may  cost 
me,  and  however  great  the  sacrifice  I make,  — in  one 
week  you  shall  have  a companion.” 

“ Where!”  asked  she. 

“ Here.” 

“ Here  ! ” she  exclaimed,  “ behind  these  bars  ; behind 
these  inexorable  doors,  these  iron  doors  1 — a fellow- 
prisoner  1 Oh ! you  cannot  mean  it,  Monsieur ; that  is 
not  what  I ask.” 

“ Lorenza,  it  is  all  that  I can  grant.” 

The  young  woman  made  a more  vehement  gesture  of 
impatience. 

“ My  dear  child,”  resumed  Balsamo,  mildly,  “ reflect  a 
little ; with  a companion  you  will  more  easily  support  the 
weight  of  this  necessary  misfortune.” 

“ You  mistake.  Monsieur.  Until  now  I have  grieved 


WHAT  ALTHOTAS  WANTED. 


171 


only  for  myself,  not  for  others.  This  trial  only  was 
wanting,  and  I see  that  you  wish  to  make  me  undergo  it. 
Yes,  you  will  immure  beside  me  a victim  like  myself;  I 
shall  see  her  grow  thinner  and  paler,  and  pine  away  with 
grief,  even  as  I do.  I shall  see  her  beat,  as  I do,  these 
walls,  that  hateful  door,  which  I examine  twenty  times 
each  day  to  see  where  it  opens  to  give  you  egress ; and 
when  my  companion,  your  victim,  has,  like  me,  wounded 
her  hands  against  the  marble  blocks  in  her  endeavors  to 
disjoin  them ; when,  like  me,  she  has  worn  out  her  eyelids 
with  her  tears ; when  she  is  dead  as  I am,  in  soul  and 
mind,  and  you  have  two  corpses  in  place  of  one,  you  will 
say,  in  your  infernal  benevolence  : ‘ These  two  young  crea- 
tures amuse  themselves  ; they  keep  each  other  company  ; 
they  are  happy  ! 7 Oh  ! no,  no,  no  ! — a thousand  times 
no  ! ” And  she  passionately  stamped  her  foot  upon  the 
floor,  while  Balsamo  endeavored  in  vain  to  calm  her. 

“ Come,  Lorenza,”  said  he,  “ I entreat  you  to  show  a 
little  more  mildness  and  calmness.  Let  us  reason  on  the 
matter.” 

“ He  asks  me  to  be  calm,  to  be  gentle,  to  reason  ! The 
executioner  tells  the  victim  whom  he  is  torturing,  to  be 
gentle,  and  the  innocent  martyr  to  be  calm  ! ” 

“ Yes,  Lorenza,  I ask  you  to  be  gentle  and  calm,  for 
your  anger  cannot  change  our  destiny ; it  only  embitters 
it.  Accept  what  I offer  you,  Lorenza  ; I will  give  you  a 
companion  who  will  hug  her  chains,  since  they  have  pro- 
cured for  her  your  friendship.  You  shall  not  see  a sad 
and  tearful  face,  such  as  you  fear,  but  smiles  and  gayety 
which  will  smooth  your  brow.  Come,  dear  Lorenza,  accept 
what  I offer;  for  I swear  to  you  that  I cannot  offer  you 
more.” 

“ That  means  that  you  will  place  near  me  a hireling,  to 
whom  you  will  say  : 4 1 give  you  in  charge  a poor  insane 


172 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


creature,  who  is  ill  and  about  to  die ; soothe  her,  share 
her  confinement,  attend  to  her  comforts,  and  I will 
recompense  you  when  she  is  no  more.*  ” 

“ Oh,  Lorenza  ! Lorenza  ! ” 

“ No,  that  is  not  it ; Tam  mistaken,”  continued  Lorenza, 
with  bitter  irony;  “I  conjecture  badly.  But  what  can 
you  expect?  I am  so  ignorant,  I know  so  little  of  the 
world.  You  will  say  to  the  woman  : i Watch  over  the 
madwoman,  she  is  dangerous ; report  all  her  actions,  all 
her  thoughts,  to  me.  Watch  over  her,  waking  and  sleep- 
ing/ And  you  will  give  her  as  much  gold  as  she  requires, 
for  gold  costs  you  nothing,  — you  make  it ! ” 

“ Lorenza,  you  wander ; in  the  name  of  Heaven,  Lorenza, 
read  my  heart  more  truly ! In  giving  you  a companion, 
my  beloved,  I compromise  such  mighty  interests  that  you 
would  tremble  for  me  if  you  did  not  hate  me.  In  giving 
you  a companion,  I endanger  my  safety,  my  liberty, 
my  life  ; and  yet  I will  risk  all  that  to  save  you  a little 
weariness.” 

“ Weariness ! ” exclaimed  Lorenza,  with  a wild  and 
frantic  laugh  which  made  Balsamo  shudder.  “ He  calls  it 
weariness  ! ” 

“Well,  suffering!  Yes,  you  are  right,  Lorenza;  they 
are  poignant  sufferings.  I repeat,  Lorenza,  have  patience. 
A day  will  come  when  all  your  sufferings  will  cease  ; a day 
will  come  when  you  shall  be  free  and  happy.” 

“ Will  you  permit  me  to  retire  to  a convent  and  take 
the  vows  ? ” 

“ To  a convent  ? ” 

“ I will  pray,  — first  for  you,  and  then  for  myself.  I 
shall  be  closely  confined,  indeed,  but  I shall  at  least  have 
a garden,  air,  space.  I shall  have  a cemetery  to  walk  in, 
and  can  seek  beforehand  among  the  tombs  for  the  place  of 
my  repose.  I shall  have  companions  who  grieve  for  their 


WHAT  ALTHOTAS  WANTED. 


173 


own  sorrows,  and  not  for  mine.  Permit  me  to  retire  to  a 
convent,  and  I will  take  any  vows  you  wish.  A con- 
vent, Balsamo  ! I implore  you  on  my  knees  to  grant  this 
request.” 

“Lorenza,  Lorenza!  we  cannot  part.  Mark  me  well, 
we  are  indissolubly  connected  in  this  world  ! A.sk  for 
nothing  which  exceeds  the  limits  of  this  house.” 

Balsamo  pronounced  these  last  words  in  so  calm  and 
determined  a tone  that  Lorenza  did  not  even  repeat  the 
request.  “ Then  you  refuse  me  1 ” said  she,  dejectedly. 

“ I cannot  grant  it.” 

“ Is  what  you  say  irrevocable 
Ai  It  is.” 

“Well,  I have  something  else  then  to  ask,”  said  she, 
with  a smile. 

“ Oh  ! my  dear  Lorenza,  smile  again,  and  still  again. 
With  such  a smile  you  will  compel  me  to  do  all  you 
wish ! ” 

“ Oh,  yes  ! I shall  make  you  do  all  that  I wish,  pro- 
vided I do  everything  that  pleases  you.  Well ! be  it  so  ; 
I will  be  as  reasonable  as  possible.” 

“ Speak,  Lorenza,  speak ! ” 

“Just  now  you  said  : ‘One  day,  Lorenza,  your  suffer- 
ings shall  cease  ; one  day  you  shall  be  free  and  happy.*  ** 

“ Oh,  yes  ! I said  so ; and  I swear  before  Heaven  that  I 
await  that  day  as  impatiently  as  yourself.** 

“ Well,  this  day  may  arrive  immediately,  Balsam o,”  said 
the  young  Italian,  with  a caressing  smile,  which  her  hus- 
band had  hitherto  seen  only  in  her  sleep.  “ I am  weary, 
very  weary,  — you  can  understand  my  feelings ; I am  so 
young,  and  have  already  suffered  so  much  ! Well,  my 
friend,  — for  you  say  you  are  my  friend,  — listen  to  me : 
grant  me  this  happy  day  immediately.** 

“ I hear  you,**  said  Balsamo,  inexpressibly  agitated. 


174 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ I end  my  appeal  by  the  request  I should  have  made 
at  the  commencement,  Acharat.”  The  young  woman 
shuddered. 

“ Speak,  my  beloved  ! ” 

“ Well,  I have  often  remarked,  when  you  made  experi- 
ments on  some  unfortunate  animal,  and  when  you  told  me 
that  these  experiments  were  necessary  to  the  cause  of  hu- 
manity, — I have  often  remarked  that  you  possessed  the 
secret  of  inflicting  death,  sometimes  by  a drop  of  poison, 
sometimes  by  an  opened  vein  ; that  this  death  was  calm, 
rapid  as  lightning,  and  that  these  unfortunate  and  inno- 
cent creatures,  condemned,  as  I am,  to  the  miseries  of 
captivity,  were  instantly  liberated  by  death,  — the  first 
blessing  they  had  received  since  their  birth.  Well  — ” 
She  stopped,  and  turned  pale. 

“Well,  my  Lorenza?”  repeated  Balsamo. 

“Well,  what  you  sometimes  do  to  these  unfortunate 
animals  for  the  interest  of  science,  do  now  to  me  in  the 
name  of  humanity.  Do  it  for  a friend,  who  will  bless  you 
with  her  whole  heart,  who  will  kiss  your  hands  with  the 
deepest  gratitude,  if  you  grant  her  what  she  asks.  Do  it, 
Balsamo,  for  me,  who  kneel  here  at  your  feet,  who  prom- 
ise you  with  my  last  sigh  more  love  and  happiness  than 
you  have  awakened  in  me  during  my  whole  life,  — for 
me,  Balsamo,  who  promise  you  a frank  and  beaming 
smile  as  I leave  this  earth  ! By  the  soul  of  your  mother, 
by  the  sufferings  of  our  Blessed  Lord,  by  all  that  is  holy 
and  solemn  and  sacred  in  the  world  of  the  living  and  of 
the  dead,  I implore  you,  kill  me,  kill  me  ! ” 

“ Lorenza  ! ” exclaimed  Balsamo,  taking  her  in  his  arms 
as  she  rose  after  uttering  these  last  words,  “ Lorenza,  you 
are  delirious.  Kill  you,  — you  ! my  love  ! my  life  ! ” 

Lorenza  disengaged  herself  by  a violent  effort  from 
Balsamo’s  grasp,  and  fell  on  her  knees.  “ I will  never 


WHAT  ALTHOTAS  WANTED. 


175 


rise,”  said  she,  “ until  you  have  granted  my  request.  Kill 
me  without  a shock,  without  violence,  without  pain. 
Grant  me  this  favor,  since  you  say  you  love  me ; send  me 
to  sleep  as  you  have  often  done,  — only,  take  away  the 
awaking  ; it  is  despair  ! ” 

“ Lorenza,  my  beloved  ! ” said  Balsamo.  “ 0 God  ! 
do  you  not  see  how  you  torture  my  heart  h What ! you 
are  really  so  unhappy,  then  ] Come,  my  Lorenza,  rise ; 
do  not  give  way  to  despair.  Alas  ! do  you  hate  me  then 
so  very  much  1 ” 

“ I hate  slavery,  constraint,  solitude  ; and  as  you  make 
me  a slave,  unhappy,  and  solitary,  — well,  yes,  I hate  you ! ” 

“ But  I love  you  too  dearly  to  see  you  die,  Lorenza. 
You  shall  not  die,  therefore ; I will  effect  the  most  diffi- 
cult cure  I have  yet  undertaken,  my  Lorenza,  — I will 
make  you  love  life.” 

“ No,  no,  that  is  impossible ; you  have  made  me  long 
for  death.” 

“ Lorenza,  for  pity’s  sake  ! — I promise  that  soon  — ” 

“ Life  or  death  ! ” exclaimed  the  young  woman,  becom- 
ing more  and  more  excited.  “ This  is  the  decisive  day. 
Will  you  give  me  life,  — that  is  to  say,  liberty  1 Will  you 
give  me  death,  — that  is  to  say,  repose  ] ” 

“ Life,  my  Lorenza,  life  I ” 

“Then  that  is  liberty.” 

Balsamo  was  silent. 

“ If  not,  death,  — a gentle  death  ; by  a draught,  a 
needle’s  point,  — death  during  sleep  ! Bepose,  repose, 
repose  ! ” 

u Life  and  patience,  Lorenza  ! ” 

Lorenza  burst  into  a terrible  laugh,  and  making  a spring 
backward,  drew  from  her  bosom  a knife,  with  a blade  so 
fine  and  sharp  that  it  glittered  in  her  hand  like  a flash  of 
lightning. 


176 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Balsamo  cried  out,  but  he  was  too  late.  When  he 
rushed  forward,  when  he  reached  the  hand,  the  arm  had 
already  described  its  course,  and  had  fallen  on  Lorenza’s 
breast.  Balsamo  had  been  dazzled  by  the  flash ; he  was 
blinded  by  the  sight  of  blood.  In  his  turn  he  uttered  a 
terrible  cry,  and  seized  Lorenza  round  the  waist,  meeting 
midway  her  arm  descending  to  deal  a second  blow,  and 
grasping  the  weapon  in  his  undefended  hand.  Lorenza 
with  a mighty  effort  drew  the  weapon  away,  and  the 
sharp  blade  glided  through  Balsamo’s  fingers.  The  blood 
streamed  from  his  mutilated  hand. 

Then,  instead  of  continuing  the  struggle,  Balsamo  ex- 
tended his  bleeding  hand  toward  the  young  woman,  and 
said,  with  a voice  of  irresistible  command : “ Sleep, 
Lorenza,  sleep  ! I will  it.” 

But  on  this  occasion  her  irritation  was  such  that  her 
obedience  was  not  as  prompt  as  usual. 

“ No,  no,”  murmured  Lorenza,  tottering  and  attempting 
to  strike  again.  “ Ho,  I will  not  sleep  ! ” 

“ Sleep,  I tell  you ! ” said  Balsamo,  a second  time, 
advancing  a step  toward  her ; “ sleep,  I command  it ! ” 
This  time  the  power  of  Balsamo’s  will  was  so  great  that 
all  resistance  was  in  vain.  Lorenza  heaved  a sigh,  let  the 
knife  fall  from  her  hand,  and  sank  back  upon  the  cushions. 
Her  eyes  still  remained  open,  but  their  threatening  glare 
gradually  died  away,  and  finally  they  closed ; her  stiffened 
neck  drooped  ; her  head  fell  upon  her  shoulder  like  that 
of  a wounded  bird ; a nervous  shudder  passed  through  her 
frame,  — Lorenza  was  asleep. 

Balsamo  hastily  opened  her  robe,  and  examined  the 
wound,  which  seemed  to  him  slight,  although  the  blood 
flowed  from  it  freely.  He  then  pressed  the  lion’s  eye,  the 
spring  acted,  and  the  back  of  the  fireplace  opened ; then, 
detaching  the  counterpoise  which  made  the  trap-door  of 


WHAT  ALTHOTAS  WANTED. 


177 


Althotas’s  chamber  descend,  he  leaped  upon  it,  and 
mounted  to  the  old  man's  laboratory. 

“Ah!  it  is  you,  Acharat]”  said  the  latter,  who  was 
still  seated  in  his  armchair.  “You  are  aware  that  in  a 
week  1 shall  be  a hundred  years  old.  You  are  aware  that 
before  that  time  I must  have  the  blood  of  a child,  or  of  a 
virgin.” 

But  Balsamo  heard  nothing.  He  hastened  to  the  cup- 
board in  which  the  magic  balsams  were  kept,  seized  one 
of  the  phials  of  which  he  had  often  proved  the  efficacy, 
again  mounted  upon  the  trap,  stamped  his  foot,  and 
descended  to  the  lower  apartment. 

Althotas  rolled  his  armchair  to  the  mouth  of  the  trap, 
with  the  intention  of  seizing  Balsamo  by  his  garments. 
“ Do  you  hear,  unhappy  man  1 ” said  he  ; “ do  you  hear  1 
If  in  a week  I have  not  a child  or  a virgin  to  complete  my 
elixir,  I am  a dead  man  ! ” 

Balsamo  turned ; the  old  man’s  eyes  seemed  to  glare  in 
the  midst  of  his  unearthly  and  motionless  features,  as  if 
they  alone  were  alive.  “ Yes,  yes,”  he  replied,  — “ yes,  be 
calm ; you  shall  have  what  you  want.”  He  touched  the 
spring,  and  the  trap  mounted  again,  fitting  like  an  orna- 
ment in  the  ceiling  of  the  room.  Then  he  rushed  into 
Lorenza’s  apartment,  which  he  had  just  reached  when 
Fritz’s  bell  rang. 

“ Monsieur  de  Bichelieu  ! ” muttered  Balsamo.  “ Oh  I 
duke  and  peer  as  he  is,  he  must  wait.” 


VOL.  III.  — 13 


178 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

MONSIEUR  DE  RICHELIEU^  TWO  DROPS  OF  WATER. 

Monsieur  de  Richelieu  left  the  house  in  the  Rue  Saint 
Claude  at  half-past  four.  What  his  errand  with  Balsamo 
was,  will  appear  in  what  follows. 

Monsieur  de  Taverney  had  dined  with  his  daughter,  as 
the  dauphiness  had  given  her  leave  to  absent  herself  on 
this  day  in  order  that  she  might  receive  her  father.  They 
were  at  dessert,  when  Monsieur  de  Richelieu,  ever  the 
hearer  of  good  news,  made  his  appearance  to  announce  to 
his  friend  that  the  king  had  declared  that  very  morning 
that  he  would  give  not  merely  a company  to  Philippe,  hut 
a regiment.  Taverney  was  exuberant  in  his  expressions 
of  joy,  and  Andree  warmly  thanked  the  marshal. 

The  conversation  took  a turn  which  may  he  easily  im- 
agined after  what  had  passed  ; Richelieu  spoke  of  nothing 
hut  the  king,  Andree  of  nothing  hut  her  brother,  and 
Taverney  of  nothing  hut  Andree.  The  latter  announced 
in  the  course  of  conversation  that  she  was  set  at  liberty 
from  her  attendance  on  the  dauphiness  ; that  her  Royal 
Highness  was  receiving  a visit  from  two  German  princes, 
her  relations;  and  that  in  order  to  pass  a few  hours  of 
liberty  with  them,  which  might  remind  her  of  the  court  of 
Vienna,  Marie  Antoinette  had  dismissed  all  her  attendants, 
even  her  lady  of  honor,  — which  had  so  deeply  shocked 
Madame  de  Noailles  that  she  had  gone  to  lay  her  griev- 
ances at  the  king’s  feet. 


RICHELIEU’S  TWO  DROPS  OF  WATER. 


179 


Taverney  was,  he  said,  delighted  at  this  freedom  of 
Andree,  since  he  had  thus  an  opportunity  of  conversing 
with  her  about  many  things  relating  to  their  fortune  and 
name.  This  observation  made  Richelieu  propose  to  retire, 
in  order  to  leave  the  father  and  daughter  quite  alone  : but 
Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  would  not  permit  it : he  there- 
fore remained. 

Richelieu  was  in  a vein  of  moralizing  ; he  painted  most 
eloquently  the  degradation  into  which  the  French  nobility 
had  fallen,  forced  as  they  were  to  submit  to  the  igno- 
minious yoke  of  those  favorites  of  chance,  those  contra- 
band queens,  instead  of  burning  incense  to  the  favorites  of 
the  olden  times,  who  were  almost  as  noble  as  their  august 
lovers,  — women  who  reigned  over  the  sovereign  by  their 
beauty  and  their  love,  and  over  his  subjects  by  their  rank, 
their  strength  of  mind,  and  their  loyal  and  pure  patriotism. 

Andree  was  surprised  at  the  close  analogy  between 
Richelieu’s  words  and  those  she  had  heard  from  the  Baron 
de  Taverney  a few  days  previously. 

Richelieu  then  launched  into  a theory  of  virtue  so  spir- 
itual, so  pagan,  so  French  that  Andree  was  obliged  to 
confess  that  she  was  not  at  all  virtuous  according  to  Mon- 
sieur de  Richelieu’s  theories,  and  that  true  virtue,  as  the 
marshal  understood  it,  was  the  virtue  of  Madame  de  Cha- 
teauroux,  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere,  and  Mademoiselle 
de  Fosseuse. 

From  argument  to  argument,  from  proof  to  proof, 
Richelieu  at  last  became  so  clear  that  Andree  no  longer 
understood  a word  of  what  he  said.  On  this  footing  the 
conversation  continued  until  about  seven  o’clock  in  the 
evening,  when  the  marshal  rose,  being  obliged,  as  he  said, 
to  pay  his  court  to  the  king  at  Versailles.  In  passing 
through  the  apartment  to  take  his  hat,  he  met  Mcole,  who 
had  always  something  to  do  wherever  Monsieur  de  Riche' 


180 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


lieu  was.  “ My  girl,”  said  he,  tapping  her  on  the  shoulder, 
“ you  shall  see  me  out.  I want  you  to  carry  a bouquet 
which  Madame  de  Noailles  cut  for  me  in  her  garden,  and 
which  she  commissioned  me  to  present  to  the  Comtesse 
d’Egmont.” 

Nicole  bowed  like  the  peasant  girls  in  Monsieur  Rous- 
seau’s comic  operas,  whereupon  the  marshal  took  leave  of 
father  and  daughter,  exchanged  a significant  glance  with 
Taverney,  made  a bow  to  Andree  which  was  quite  juve- 
nile in  its  graceful  ease,  and  retired. 

With  the  reader’s  permission  we  will  leave  the  baron 
and  Andree  conversing  about  the  fresh  mark  of  favor  con- 
ferred on  Philippe,  and  follow  the  marshal.  In  this  way 
we  shall  discover  what  was  his  errand  at  the  Rue  Saint 
Claude,  where  he  arrived  at  such  a fearful  moment.  Be- 
sides, the  moralizing  of  the  baron  even  surpassed  that  of 
his  friend  the  marshal,  and  might  startle  ears  less  pure 
than  Andree’s,  which  would  perhaps  partly  understand  it. 

Richelieu  descended  the  stairs  leaning  on  Nicole’s 
shoulder ; and  as  soon  as  they  were  in  the  garden  he 
stopped,  and  looking  her  in  the  face  said  : “ Ah  ! little 
one,  so  we  have  a lover  1 ” 

“ I,  Monsieur  le  Marechal ! ” exclaimed  Nicole,  blush- 
ing crimson,  and  retreating  a step. 

“ Oh  ! perhaps  you  are  not  called  Nicole  Legay?  ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur  le  Marechal.” 

“Well,  Nicole  Legay  has  a lover.” 

“ Oh,  indeed  ! ” 

“Yes,  faith  ! a certain  good-looking  rascal  whom  she 
used  to  meet  in  the  Rue  Coq- Heron,  and  who  has  followed 
her  to  Versailles.” 

“ Monsieur  le  Due,  I swear  to  you  — ” 

“ A sort  of  officer,  called  — Shall  I tell  you,  child, 
the  name  of  Mademoiselle  Legay’s  lover  ?” 


RICHELIEU’S  TWO  DROPS  OF  WATER. 


181 


Nicole’s  last  hope  was  that  the  marshal  was  ignorant  of 
the  name  of  that  happy  mortal. 

“ Oh,  yes,  Monsieur  le  Marechal ! tell  me,  since  you 
have  made  a beginning.” 

66  Who  is  called  Monsieur  de  Beausire,”  repeated  the 
marshal,  “ and  who  in  truth  does  not  belie  his  name.” 
Nicole  clasped  her  hands  with  an  affectation  of  prudery 
which  did  not  in  the  least  impose  on  Richelieu.  “ It 
seems,”  said  he,  “ we  make  appointments  with  him  at 
Trianon.  Peste  / in  a royal  chateau,  — that  is  a serious 
matter.  One  may  be  discharged  for  these  freaks,  my 
sweet  one ; and  Monsieur  de  Sartines  sends  all  young 
ladies  who  are  discharged  from  the  royal  chateau  to  the 
Salpetriere.” 

Nicole  began  to  be  uneasy. 

“ Monseigneur,”  said  she,  “ I swear  to  you  that  if  Mon- 
sieur Beausire  boasts  of  being  my  lover,  he  is  a fool  and  a 
villain  ; for  indeed  I am  innocent.” 

“ I shall  not  contradict  you,”  said  Richelieu  ; “ hut  have 
you  made  appointments  with  him,  or  not  1 ” 

“ Monseigneur,  a rendezvous  is  no  proof  of  — ” 

“ Have  you,  or  have  you  not  ] Answer  me.” 

“ Monseigneur  — 99 

“ You  have.  Very  well ; I do  not  blame  you,  my  dear 
child.  Besides,  I like  pretty  girls  who  make  use  of  their 
attractions,  and  I have  always  assisted  them  in  so  doing 
to  the  utmost  of  my  power.  Only,  as  your  friend  and 
protector,  I warn  you.” 

“ But  have  I been  seen,  then  1 ” asked  Nicole. 

“ It  seems  so,  since  I know  about  it.” 

“ Monseigneur,”  said  Nicole,  resolutely,  “ I have  not 
been  seen  ; it  is  impossible  ! ” 

“ As  to  that,  I know  nothing ; but  the  report  is  very 
prevalent,  and  must  tend  to  fasten  attention  on  your  mis- 


182 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


tress.  Now,  you  must  be  aware  that  being  more  the  friend 
of  the  Taverneys  than  of  the  Legays,  it  is  my  duty  to  give 
the  baron  a hint.” 

“ Oh,  Monseigneur  ! ” exclaimed  Nicole,  terrified  at  the 
turn  the  conversation  was  taking,  “ you  will  ruin  me ! 
Although  innocent,  I shall  be  discharged  on  the  mere 
suspicion.” 

“ Well,  my  poor  child,  you  will  be  discharged,  then ; 
for  even  now  some  evil-minded  person  or  other,  having 
taken  offence  at  these  meetings,  innocent  though  they  be, 
has  informed  Madame  de  Noailles  of  them.” 

“ Madame  de  Noailles,  — good  heavens  ! 99 
“ Yes  ; you  see  the  danger  is  urgent.” 

Nicole  clasped  her  hands  in  despair. 

“It  is  unfortunate,  I am  aware,”  said  Richelieu;  “but 
what  the  devil  can  you  do  about  it  1 ” 

“And  you,  who  said  just  now  you  were  my  protector, 
— you,  who  have  proved  yourself  to  be  such,  — can  you 
no  longer  protect  me?”  asked  Nicole,  with  a wheedling 
cunning  worthy  of  a woman  of  thirty  years. 

“ Yes,  pardieu  / I can  protect  you.” 

“ Well,  Monseigneur  % 99 
“ Yes  ; but  I will  not.” 

“ Oh,  Monsieur  le  Due  ! 99 

“ Yes,  you  are  pretty,  I know  that,  and  your  beautiful 
eyes  say  all  sorts  of  things  to  me;  but  I have  lately  be- 
come rather  blind,  my  poor  Nicole,  and  I no  longer  under- 
stand the  language  of  lovely  eyes.  Once  I would  have 
offered  you  an  asylum  in  my  pavilion  of  Hanovre ; but 
now  it  would  be  of  no  use,  — it  is  not  even  to  be  spoken 
of.” 

“Yet  you  have  once  already  taken  me  there,”  said 
Nicole,  angrily. 

“ Ah  ! that  is  ungrateful  in  you,  Nicole,  to  reproach  me 


RICHELIEU’S  TWO  DROPS  OF  WATER. 


183 


with  having  taken  you  there,  when  I did  so  to  render  you 
a service ; for,  confess  that  without  Monsieur  Rafted  as- 
sistance, who  made  you  a charming  brunette,  you  would 
never  have  entered  Trianon,  — which,  after  all,  perhaps, 
would  have  been  better  than  to  be  dismissed  from  it  now. 
But  why  the  devil  did  you  give  a rendezvous  to  Monsieur 
de  Beausire,  and  at  the  very  gate  of  the  stables  too  1 ” 

“ So  you  know  that  also  1 ” said  Nicole,  who  saw  that 
she  must  change  her  tactics,  and  place  herself  at  the  mar- 
shal’s discretion. 

“ Parbleu ! you  see  that  I know  it,  and  Madame  de 
Noailles  too.  This  very  evening  you  have  a rendez- 
vous — ” 

“ That  is  true,  Monsieur  le  Due  j but,  on  my  faith,  I will 
not  go.” 

“ Of  course,  you  are  warned ; but  Monsieur  de  Beausire 
will  go.  He  is  not  warned,  and  he  will  be  seized.  Then, 
as  he  will  not  like,  of  course,  to  be  taken  for  a thief  and 
be  hanged,  or  for  a spy  and  be  whipped,  he  will  prefer  to 
say,  — especially  as  there  is  no  disgrace  in  confessing  it,  — 
‘ Unhand  me;  lam  the  lover  of  the  pretty  Nicole  ! ’ ” 

“ Monsieur  le  Due,  I will  send  to  warn  him.” 

“ Impossible,  my  poor  child  ! by  whom  could  you  send  ? 
By  him  who  betrayed  you,  perhaps  ? ” 

“ Alas  ! that  is  true,”  said  Nicole,  feigning  despair. 

“ What  a becoming  thing  remorse  is ! ” exclaimed 
Richelieu. 

Nicole  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  taking  care, 
however,  to  leave  space  enough  between  her  fingers  to 
allow  her  to  observe  every  look  and  gesture  of  Richelieu. 

“ You  are  really  adorable  ! ” said  the  duke,  whom  none 
of  these  little  tricks  could  escape.  “ Why  am  I not  fifty 
years  younger  ? No  matter,  parbleu  / Nicole,  I will 
bring  you  out  of  the  scrape.” 


184 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Oh,  Monseigneur  ! if  you  do  that,  my  gratitude  — ” 

“ I don’t  want  it,  Nicole.  On  the  contrary,  I shall  give 
you  most  disinterested  assistance.” 

“ Oh,  how  good  of  you,  Monseigneur ! I thank  you 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart ! ” 

“Do  not  thank  me  yet;  as  yet  you  know  nothing. 
What  the  devil ! wait  till  you  hear  more.” 

“ I will  submit  to  anything,  provided  Mademoiselle 
Andree  does  not  dismiss  me.” 

“ Ah  ! then  your  heart  is  set  on  remaining  at  Trianon  ? 99 
“ By  all  means,  Monseigneur.” 

“ Well,  Nicole,  in  the  very  first  place,  get  rid  of  this 
feeling.” 

“ But  why  so,  if  I am  not  discovered,  Monsieur  le  Due  ?” 
“ Whether  you  are  discovered  or  not,  you  must  leave 
Trianon.” 

“ Oh  ! why  ? ” 

“ I will  tell  you  : because  if  Madame  de  Noailles  has 
found  you  out,  no  one,  not  even  the  king,  can  save  you.” 
“ Ah,  if  I could  only  see  the  king  ! ” 

“Well,  really,  little  one,  that  indeed  would  be  sufficient. 
In  the  second  place,  even  if  you  are  not  found  out,  I my- 
self shall  cause  your  departure.” 

“ You  f ” 

“ Immediately.” 

“ In  truth,  Monsieur  le  Marechal,  I do  not  understand 
you.” 

“ It  is  as  I have  had  the  honor  of  telling  you.” 

“ And  that  is  your  protection,  is  it?  ” 

“ If  you  do  not  wish  for  it,  there  is  yet  time ; you  have 
only  to  say  the  word,  Nicole.” 

“ Oh,  yes,  Monsieur  le  Due  ! on  the  contrary,  I do  wish 
for  it.” 

“ And  I will  grant  it.” 


RICHELIEU’S  TWO  DROPS  OF  WATER. 


185 


“ Well  ? ” 

“ Well,  this  is  what  I will  do  for  you.  Hark  ye ! ” 

“ Speak,  Monseigneur  ! ” 

“ Instead  of  getting  you  discharged,  and  perhaps  im- 
prisoned, I will  make  you  free  and  rich.” 

“ Free  and  rich  ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ And  what  must  I do  in  order  to  be  free  and  rich  ? 
Tell  me  quickly,  Monsieur  le  Marechal ! ” 

“Almost  nothing.” 

“ But  what  — ” 

“ What  I am  about  to  tell  you.” 

“ Is  it  difficult  ? ” 

“ Mere  child’s  play.” 

“ Then,”  said  Nicole,  “ there  is  something  to  do  ? ” 
“Ah,  of  course!  you  know  the  motto  of  the  world, 
Nicole,  — ‘ Nothing  for  nothing.’  ” 

“And  that  which  I have  to  do,  is  it  for  myself,  or  for 
you  ? ” 

The  Duke  looked  at  Nicole.  “ Tudieu /”  said  he; 
“ the  little  masker,  how  cunning  she  is  ! ” 

“ Well,  finish,  Monsieur  le  Due.” 

“ Well ! it  is  for  yourself,”  replied  he,  boldly. 

“Ah  ! ” said  Nicole,  who,  perceiving  that  the  marshal 
had  need  of  her  services,  already  feared  him  no  longer, 
while  her  ingenious  brain  was  busily  endeavoring  to  dis- 
cover the  truth  amid  the  windings  which,  from  habit,  her 
companion  always  used  ; “ what  shall  I have  to  do  for 
myself,  Monsieur  le  Due  ? ” 

“ This  : Monsieur  de  Beausire  comes  at  half-past  seven 
does  he  not  ? ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur  le  Marechal,  that  is  his  time.” 

“ It  is  now  ten  minutes  past  seven.” 

“ That  is  also  true.” 


186 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ If  I say  the  word  he  will  be  arrested.” 

“ Yes,  but  you  will  not  say  it.” 

“ No.  You  will  go  to  him  and  tell  him.  But  in  the 
first  place,  Nicole,  do  you  love  this  young  man  ? ” 

“ Why,  I have  given  him  a rendezvous.” 

“ That  is  no  reason ; you  may  wish  to  marry  him. 
"Women  take  such  strange  caprices.” 

Nicole  burst  into  a loud  laugh.  “ I marry  him  ! ” said 
she.  “ Ha  ! ha  ! ha  ! ” 

Richelieu  was  astounded  : he  had  not,  even  at  court, 
met  many  women  of  this  stamp. 

“ Well,”  said  he,  “ so  be  it.  You  do  not  wish  to  many 
him,  but  you  love  him.  So  much  the  better.” 

“ Agreed  ! I love  Monsieur  de  Beausire.  Let  us  take 
that  for  granted,  Monseigneur,  and  proceed  ! ” 

“ Peste  ! what  strides  you  make  ! 33 
“ Of  course.  You  may  readily  imagine  that  I am 
anxious  to  know  what  remains  for  me  to  do.” 

“ In  the  first  place,  since  you  love  him,  you  must  fly 
with  him.” 

“Oh!  if  you  absolutely  insist  upon  it,  I suppose  I 
must.” 

“Oh,  oh!  I insist  upon  nothing;  not  so  fast,  little 
one.” 

Nicole  saw  that  she  was  going  too  far,  and  that  as  yet 
she  had  neither  the  secret  nor  the  money  of  her  cunning 
opponent.  She  stooped,  therefore,  only  to  rise  again 
afterward. 

“ Monseigneur,”  said  she,  “ I await  your  orders.” 

“Well!  you  must  go  to  Monsieur  de  Beausire  and  say 
to  him  : ‘We  are  discovered ; but  I have  a protector  who 
will  save  you  from  Saint  Lazare.  and  me  from  the 
Salpetriere.  Let  us  fly.3  ” 

Nicole  looked  at  Richelieu.  “ Fly  1 ” she  repeated. 


RICHELIEU’S  TWO  DROPS  OF  WATER. 


187 


Richelieu  understood  her  cunning  and  expressive  look. 
“ Parbleu ! ” said  he,  “ of  course  I shall  pay  the 
expenses/’ 

Nicole  asked  for  no  further  explanation.  It  was  plain 
that  she  would  know  all,  since  she  was  to  be  paid. 

The  marshal  saw  what  an  important  point  Nicole  had 
gained,  and  hastened  to  say  all  he  had  to  say,  just  as 
a gambler  is  eager  to  pay  when  he  has  lost,  in  order  to  get 
through  the  disagreeable  task. 

“ Do  you  know  what  you  are  thinking  of,  Nicole  1 ” 
said  he. 

“ Faith,  no,”  replied  the  girl;  “but  I suppose  you, 
Monsieur  le  Marechal,  who  know  so  many  things,  have 
divined  it.” 

“ Nicole,”  he  replied,  “ you  were  reflecting  that  if  you 
fled,  your  mistress  might  require  you  during  the  night ; 
and  not  finding  you,  might  give  the  alarm,  which  would 
expose  you  to  the  risk  of  being  overtaken  and  seized.” 

“No,”  said  Nicole,  “I  was  not  thinking  of  that; 
because,  on  reflection,  Monseigneur,  I would  prefer  remain- 
ing here.” 

“ But  if  Monsieur  de  Beausire  is  taken  ? ” 

“ Well,  I cannot  help  it.” 

“ But  if  he  confess  ] ” 

“ Let  him  confess.” 

“Ah  ! ” said  Richelieu,  beginning  to  be  uneasy,  “ but  in 
that  case  you  are  lost.” 

“ No  ; for  Mademoiselle  Andree  is  kindness  itself,  and 
as  she  loves  me  at  heart,  she  will  speak  to  the  king  for 
me.  So,  even  if  Monsieur  de  Beausire  is  punished,  I shall 
not  share  his  punishment.” 

The  marshal  bit  his  lips. 

“Nicole,”  said  he,  “I  tell  you  you  are  a fool.  Made- 
moiselle Andree  is  not  on  good  terms  with  the  king,  and 


188 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


I will  have  you  arrested  immediately  if  you  do  not  listen 
to  me  as  I wish.  Do  you  hear,  you  little  viper1?  ” 

“ Oh,  oh  ! Monseigneur,  my  head  is  neither  flat  nor 
horned.  I listen,  but  I form  my  own  conclusions.” 

“ Good  ! Then  you  will  go  at  once  and  arrange  your 
plan  of  flight  with  Monsieur  de  Beausire.” 

“ But  how  ? Do  you  imagine,  Monsieur  le  Marechal, 
that  I shall  expose  myself  to  the  risk  of  flight,  when  you 
tell  me  yourself  that  Mademoiselle  might  awake,  might 
ask  for  me,  give  the  alarm,  and  a great  deal  more  which  I 
did  not  think  of,  but  which  you,  Monseigneur,  who  are  a 
man  of  experience,  have  foreseen  ? ” 

Richelieu  bit  his  lip  again ; but  this  time  more  deeply 
than  before.  “ Well,  you  rogue,”  said  he,  “ if  I have 
thought  of  these  consequences,  I have  also  thought  of  how 
to  avoid  them.” 

“And  how  will  you  manage  to  prevent  Mademoiselle 
from  calling  me  ? ” 

“ By  preventing  her  awaking.” 

“ Bah  ! she  awakes  ten  times  during  the  night ; 
impossible  ! ” 

“ Then  she  has  the  same  malady  that  I have  ? ” said 
Richelieu,  calmly. 

“The  same  that  you  have?”  said  Nicole,  laughing. 

“ Yes.  I also  awake  ten  times  every  night,  only  I have 
a remedy  for  this  sleeplessness.  She  must  do  as  I do,  or 
if  not,  you  must  do  it  for  her.” 

“ What  do  you  mean,  Monseigneur.” 

“ What  does  your  mistress  take  in  the  evening  before 
she  goes  to  bed  1 ” 

“ What  does  she  take  ? ” 

“ Yes,  it  is  the  fashion  now  to  guard  thus  against  thirst. 
Some  take  orangeade  or  lemonade ; others  eau-de-melisse ; 
others  — ” 


RICHELIEU’S  TWO  DROPS  OF  WATER. 


189 


“ Mademoiselle  drinks  only  a glass  of  pure  water  in  the 
evening  before  going  to  bed,  — sometimes  sweetened  and 
flavored  with  orange- water,  if  her  nerves  are  weak.” 

“ Ah,  excellent ! ” said  Eichelieu  ; “ just  as  I do  myself, 
My  remedy  will  suit  her  admirably.” 

“ How  so  t ” 

“ I pour  one  drop  of  a certain  liquid  into  my  beverage, 
and  I then  sleep  all  night.” 

Nicole  tasked  her  brain  to  discover  to  what  end  the 
marshal's  diplomacy  tended. 

“ You  do  not  answer  1 ” said  he. 

“ I was  just  thinking  that  Mademoiselle  has  not  your 
cordial.” 

“ I will  give  you  some.” 

“ Ah ! " thought  Nicole,  seeing  at  last  a ray  of  light 
through  the  darkness. 

“ You  must  put  two  drops  of  it  in  your  mistress's  glass, 
—•neither  more  nor  less,  remember;  and  she  will  sleep 
soundly,  so  that  she  will  not  call  you,  and  consequently 
you  will  have  time  to  escape." 

“ Oh  ! if  that  is  all,  it  is  very  simple." 

“ You  will  give  her  the  two  drops'? 99 

“ Certainly.” 

“ You  promise  me  ? " 

“ I presume  it  is  for  my  own  interest  to  do  so ; besides, 
I will  lock  the  door  so  carefully  — ” 

“By  no  means,”  said  Eichelieu,  hastily;  “that  is  ex- 
actly what  you  must  not  do.  On  the  contrary,  you  must 
leave  the  door  of  her  chamber  open.” 

“ Ah  ! ” exclaimed  Nicole,  with  an  inward  illumination  ; 
she  now  understood  all.  Eichelieu  saw  it  plainly.  “ Is 
that  all?  ” she  inquired. 

“ Absolutely  all.  Now  you  may  go  and  tell  your 
soldier  to  pack  up  his  trunks.” 


190 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Unfortunately,  Monsieur,  it  would  be  useless  to  tell 
him  to  fill  his  purse.” 

“ You  know  that  is  my  affair.” 

“Yes,  I remember  your  lordship  was  kind  enough  to 
say  — ” 

“Come,  Nicole,  how  much  do  you  want?” 

“ For  what  ? ” 

“ For  pouring  out  those  two  drops  of  water.” 

“ For  that,  nothing,  Monseigneur,  since  you  assure  me 
I pour  them  out  for  my  own  advantage  ; it  would  not  be 
just  that  you  should  pay  me  for  attending  to  my  own  in- 
terest. But  for  leaving  Mademoiselle’s  door  open,  — 
ah  ! for  that,  I warn  you,  I must  have  a good  round 
sum.” 

“ In  one  word,  how  much  ? ” 

“ I must  have  twenty  thousand  francs,  Monseigneur.” 
Richelieu  started.  “ Nicole,”  said  he,  with  a sigh, 
“you  will  go  far.” 

“ I ought  to  do  so,  Monseigneur,  for  I begin  to  believe, 
with  you,  that  they  will  pursue  me ; but  with  your  twenty 
thousand  francs  I shall  make  the  journey.” 

“ Go  and  warn  Monsieur  de  Beausire,  Nicole ; and 
when  you  return,  I will  give  you  the  money.” 

“ Monseigneur,  Monsieur  de  Beausire  is  very  incredu- 
lous, and  he  will  not  believe  what  I tell  him,  unless  I can 
give  him  proofs.” 

Richelieu  pulled  out  a handful  of  bank-notes  from  his 
pocket.  u Here  is  something  on  account,”  said  he ; “ and 
in  this  purse  there  are  a hundred  double  louis.” 

“ Monseigneur  will  settle  the  account  in  full  and  give 
me  the  balance  then  when  I have  spoken  to  Monsieur  de 
Beausire  ? ” 

“ No,  pardieu  I I will  settle  it  on  the  spot.  You  are 
a careful  girl,  Nicole ; it  will  bring  you  good  fortune.” 


RICHELIEU’S  TWO  DROPS  OF  WATER. 


191 


And  Richelieu  handed  her  the  promised  sum,  partly  in 
bank-notes,  and  partly  in  louis-d’or  and  half-louis. 

“ There  ! ” said  he  ; “ is  that  right  ? ” 

“ I think  so,”  said  Nicole.  “And  now,  Monseigneur, 
I want  only  the  principal  thing.” 

“ The  cordial  ? ” 

“ Yes  ; of  course  your  lordship  has  a flask  ? ” 

“ I have  my  own,  which  I always  carry  about  with 
me.” 

Nicole  smiled.  “ And  then,”  said  she,  “ Trianon  is 
locked  every  night,  and  I have  not  a key.” 

“ But  I have  one,  as  first  gentleman  of  the  chamber.” 

“ Ah,  really  ? ” 

“ Here  it  is.” 

“ How  fortunate  all  this  is  ! ” said  Nicole  ; “ it  is  one 
succession  of  miracles.  And  now,  Monsieur  le  Due, 
adieu ! ” 

“ Why  adieu  ? ” 

“ Certainly.  I shall  not  see  your  lordship  again,  since 
I shall  go  as  soon  as  Mademoiselle  is  asleep.” 

“ Quite  right.  Adieu,  then,  Nicole  ! ” 

And  Nicole,  laughing  in  her  sleeve,  disappeared  in  the 
increasing  darkness. 

“ I shall  still  succeed,”  said  Richelieu.  “ But  in  truth 

% 

it  would  seem  that  I am  getting  old,  and  fortune  is  turn- 
ing against  me.  I have  been  outwitted  by  this  little  one. 
But  what  matters  it,  if  I return  the  blow  ! ” 


192 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


I 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  FLIGHT. 

Nicole  was  a conscientious  girl.  She  had  received  Mon- 
sieur de  Richelieu’s  money,  and  received  it  in  advance 
too  ; and  she  felt  anxious  to  prove  herself  worthy  of  this 
confidence  by  earning  her  pay.  She  ran,  therefore,  as 
quickly  as  possible  to  the  gate,  where  she  arrived  at  forty 
minutes  past  seven,  instead  of  at  half-past.  Now,  Mon- 
sieur de  Beausire,  who.  being  accustomed  to  military  disci- 
pline, was  a punctual  man,  had  been  waiting  there  for 
ten  minutes.  About  ten  minutes  before,  too,  Monsieur 
de  Taverney  had  left  his  daughter,  and  Andree  was  com 
sequently  alone.  Now,  being  alone,  the  young  girl  had 
closed  the  blinds. 

Gilbert,  as  usual,  was  gazing  eagerly  at  Andree  from  his 
attic  ; but  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  say  whether  his 
eyes  sparkled  with  love  or  with  hatred.  When  the  blinds 
were  closed,  Gilbert  could  see  nothing.  Consequently,  he 
looked  in  another  direction ; and  thus  looking,  he  per- 
ceived Monsieur  de  Beausire’s  plume,  and  recognized  the 
officer,  who  was  walking  up  and  down,  whistling  an  air 
to  kill  time  while  he  was  waiting. 

In  about  ten  minutes  — that  is  to  say,  at  forty  min- 
utes past  seven — Nicole  made  her  appearance.  She  ex- 
changed a few  words  with  Monsieur  de  Beausire,  who 
made  a gesture  with  his  head  as  a sign  that  he  understood 
her,  and  disappeared  by  the  shady  alley  which  led  to 


THE  FLIGHT. 


193 


Petit  Trianon.  Nicole,  light  as  a bird,  returned  in  the 
direction  from  which  she  had  come. 

“ Oh,  oh  ! ” thought  Gilbert.  “ Monsieur  the  officer, 
and  Mademoiselle  the  waiting-maid,  have  something  to 
do  or  to  say  which  they  fear  to  have  witnessed.  Very 
good  ! ” 

Gilbert  no  longer  felt  any  interest  in  respect  to  Nicole’s 
movements ; but  actuated  by  the  idea  that  the  young  girl 
was  his  natural  enemy,  he  merely  sought  to  collect  a mass 
of  proofs  against  her  morality,  with  which  he  might  suc- 
cessfully repulse  any  attack,  should  she  attempt  one 
against  him.  And  as  he  knew  the  campaign  might  begin 
at  any  moment,  like  a prudent  soldier  he  collected  his 
munitions  of  war. 

A rendezvous  with  a man  in  the  very  grounds  of  Tria- 
non was  one  of  the  weapons  which  a cunning  enemy  such 
as  Gilbert  could  not  neglect,  especially  when  it  was  im- 
prudently placed  under  his  very  eyes.  He  consequently 
wished  to  have  the  testimony  of  his  ears  as  well  as  that  of 
his  eyes,  and  to  catch  some  fatally  compromising  phrase 
which  would  completely  floor  Nicole  at  the  first  onset. 
He  quickly  descended  from  his  attic,  therefore,  hastened 
along  the  passage-way,  and  gained  the  garden  by  the 
chapel-stairs.  Once  in  the  garden,  he  had  nothing  to  fear, 
for  he  knew  all  its  hiding-places  as  a fox  knows  his  cover. 
He  glided  beneath  the  linden-trees,  then  along  the  espalier, 
until  he  reached  a small  thicket  situated  about  twenty 
paces  from  the  spot  where  he  counted  upon  seeing  Nicole. 
As  he  had  foreseen,  Nicole  was  there.  Scarcely  had  he 
installed  himself  in  the  thicket  when  a strange  noise 
reached  his  ears.  It  was  the  chink  of  gold  upon  stone,  — 
that  metallic  sound  of  which  nothing  except  the  reality 
can  give  a correct  idea. 

Like  a serpent  Gilbert  glided  along  to  a raised  terrace, 
VOL.  III.  — 13 


194 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


surmounted  by  a hedge  of  lilacs,  which  at  that  season 
(early  in  May)  diffused  their  perfume  around,  and  show- 
ered down  their  flowers  upon  those  who  took  the  shady 
alley  on  their  way  from  Grand  to  Petit  Trianon. 

Having  reached  this  retreat,  Gilbert,  whose  eyes  were 
accustomed  to  pierce  the  darkness,  saw  Nicole  emptying 
the  purse,  which  Monsieur  de  Richelieu  had  given  her, 
upon  a stone  on  the  inner  side  of  the  gate,  and  prudently 
placed  out  of  Monsieur  de  Beausire’ s reach.  The  large 
louis-d’or  came  forth  from  it  in  bright  profusion,  while 
Monsieur  de  Beausire,  with  sparkling  eye  and  trembling 
hand,  looked  at  Nicole  and  her  louis-d’or  as  if  he  could  not 
comprehend  how  the  one  should  possess  the  other. 

Nicole  spoke  first.  “You  have  more  than  once,  my 
dear  Monsieur  de  Beausire,”  said  she,  “ proposed  to  elope 
with  me.” 

“ And  even  to  marry  you,”  exclaimed  the  enthusiastic 
officer. 

“ Oh,  my  dear  Monsieur ! that  is  a matter  of  course ; 
just  now  flight  is  the  most  important  point.  Can  we  fly 
in  two  hours  h ” 

“ In  ten  minutes,  if  you  like.” 

“No ; I have  something  to  do  first,  which  will  occupy 
me  two  hours.” 

“ In  two  hours,  as  in  ten  minutes,  I shall  be  at  your 
orders,  my  love.” 

“ Very  well.  Take  these  fifty  louis.”  Nicole  counted 
out  the  fifty  louis,  and  handed  them  through  the  gate  to 
Monsieur  de  Beausire,  who,  without  counting  them,  stuffed 
them  into  his  waistcoat  pocket.  “ And  in  an  hour  and  a 
half,”  she  continued,  “ be  here  with  a carriage.” 

“ But  — ” objected  Beausire. 

“ Oh  ! if  you  do  not  wish,  forget  what  has  passed  be- 
tween us,  and  give  me  back  my  fifty  louis.” 


THE  FLIGHT.  195 

“ I do  not  shrink,  dear  Nicole,  but  I fear  the 
future.” 

“ For  whom  1 99 
“ For  you.” 

" For  me  ? 99 

"Yes;  the  fifty  louis  once  vanished, — and  vanished 
they  will  soon  be,  — you  will  complain,  you  will  regret 
Trianon,  you  will  — ” 

" Oh,  how  thoughtful  you  are,  dear  Monsieur  de  Beau- 
sire  ! But  fear  nothing ; I am  not  one  of  those  women 
who  are  easily  made  miserable.  Have  no  scruples  on  that 
score ; when  the  fifty  louis  are  gone,  we  shall  see  ; 99  and 
she  shook  the  purse  which  contained  the  other  fifty. 

Beausire’s  eyes  were  absolutely  phosphorescent.  " I 
would  charge  through  a blazing  furnace  for  your  sake  ! 99 
he  exclaimed. 

" Oh,  well,  well,  I shall  not  require  so  much  from  you, 
Monsieur  de  Beausire  ! Then  it  is  agreed  that  you  will 
be  here  with  the  chaise  in  an  hour  and  a half,  and  in  two 
hours  we  will  fly  ? 99 

" Agreed ! ” exclaimed  Beausire,  seizing  Nicole’s  hand, 
and  drawing  it  through  the  gate  to  kiss  it. 

" Hush  ! 99  said  Nicole,  " are  you  mad  ? ” 

"No,  I am  in  love.” 

" Hum  ! ” muttered  Nicole. 

" Do  you  not  believe  me,  sweetheart  ? ” 

" Yes,  yes,  I believe  you.  Above  all,  be  sure  to  have 
good  horses.” 

“ Oh,  yes ! 99 

They  separated.  But  a moment  afterward  Beausire  re- 
turned, quite  alarmed.  " Hist ! ” he  whispered. 

"Well,  what  is  it?”  asked  Nicole,  already  some  dis- 
tance off,  and  putting  her  hand  to  her  mouth,  so  as  to 
convey  her  voice  farther. 


196 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN0 


“ And  the  gate  ? 99  asked  Beausire ; “ will  you  creep 
under  it.” 

“How  stupid  he  is  ! ” murmured  Nicole,  who  at  this 
moment  was  not  ten  paces  distant  from  Gilbert.  Then 
she  added  in  a louder  tone,  “ I have  the  key.” 

Beausire  uttered  a prolonged  “ oh  ! ” of  admiration,  and 
this  time  took  to  his  heels  for  good.  Nicole  hastened  back 
with  drooping  head  and  nimble  step  to  her  mistress. 

Gilbert,  now  left  sole  master  of  the  field,  put  the  follow- 
ing four  questions  to  himself : — 

“ Why  does  Nicole  fly  with  Beausire,  when  she  does  not 
love  him  ? 

“How  does  Nicole  come  to  possess  such  a large  sum  of 
money  1 

“ Why  has  Nicole  the  key  of  the  gate  1 

“ Why  does  Nicole  return  to  Andree  when  she  might  go 
at  once  ? 99 

Gilbert  found  an  answer  to  the  second  question,  but  to 
the  others  he  could  find  none.  Thus  checked  at  the  out- 
set, his  natural  curiosity  and  his  acquired  distrust  were  so 
much  excited  that  he  determined  to  remain  in  the  cold, 
beneath  the  dew-covered  trees,  to  await  the  end  of  this 
scene,  of  which  he  had  witnessed  the  beginning. 

Andree  had  conducted  her  father  to  the  barriers  of 
Grand  Trianon,  and  was  returning  alone  and  pensive,  when 
Nicole  appeared  issuing  from  the  alley  leading  to  the 
famous  gate  where  she  had  been  concerting  her  measures 
with  Monsieur  Beausire. 

Nicole  stopped  on  perceiving  her  mistress,  and  upon  a 
sign  which  Andree  made  to  her,  she  followed  her  to  her 
apartment.  It  was  now  about  half-past  eight  in  the 
evening.  The  night  had  closed  in  earlier  than  usual ; for 
a huge  cloud,  sweeping  from  south  to  north,  had  over- 
spread the  whole  sky,  and  all  around,  as  far  as  the  eye 


THE  FLIGHT. 


197 


could  reach  over  the  lofty  forest  of  Versailles,  the  gloomy 
shroud  was  gradually  enveloping  in  its  folds  the  stars,  a 
short  time  before  sparkling  in  the  azure  dome.  A light 
breeze  swept  along  the  ground,  breathing  warmly  on  the 
drooping  flowers,  which  bent  their  heads,  as  if  imploring 
heaven  to  send  them  rain  or  dew. 

The  threatening  aspect  of  the  sky  did  not  hasten 
Andree’s  steps;  on  the  contrary,  melancholy  and  thought- 
ful, the  young  girl  seemed  to  ascend  each  step  leading  to 
her  room  with  regret,  and  she  paused  at  every  window  as 
she  passed,  to  gaze  at  the  sky,  so  much  in  harmony  with 
her  saddened  mood,  and  thus  to  delay  her  return  to  her 
own  little  retreat. 

Nicole,  impatient,  angry,  fearing  that  some  whim  might 
detain  her  mistress  beyond  the  usual  hour,  grumbled  and 
muttered,  as  servants  never  fail  to  do  when  their  masters 
are  imprudent  enough  to  satisfy  their  own  caprices  at  the 
expense  of  those  of  their  domestics. 

At  last  Andree  reached  the  door  of  her  chamber,  and 
sank  rather  than  seated  herself  upon  a couch,  gently  order- 
ing Nicole  to  leave  the  window,  which  looked  upon  the 
court,  half-open.  Nicole  obeyed  ; then,  returning  to  her 
mistress  with  that  affectionate  air  which  the  flatterer  could 
so  easily  assume,  she  said  : “ I fear  Mademoiselle  feels  ill 
this  evening ; her  eyes  are  red  and  swollen,  yet  bright.  I 
think  that  Mademoiselle  is  in  great  need  of  repose.” 

“ Do  you  think  so  ? ” asked  Andree,  who  had  scarcely 
listened;  and  she  carelessly  placed  her  feet  upon  a cush- 
ion  of  tapestry-work. 

Nicole  took  this  as  an  order  to  undress  her  mistress,  and 
began  to  unfasten  the  ribbons  and  flowers  of  her  headdress, 
— a species  of  edifice  which  the  most  skilful  could  not 
demolish  in  less  than  a quarter  of  an  hour.  While  she 
was  thus  employed,  Andree  did  not  utter  a word;  and 


198 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Nicole,  left  to  follow  her  own  wishes,  did  her  work  rapidly, 
without  disturbing  Andree,  whose  preoccupation  was  so 
great  that  she  permitted  Nicole  to  pull  out  her  hair  with 
impunity. 

When  the  night-toilet  was  finished,  Andree  gave  her 
orders  for  the  morrow.  In  the  morning  some  books  were 
to  be  brought  from  Versailles  which  Philippe  had  left 
there  for  his  sister,  and  the  tuner  was  to  be  ordered  to 
attend  to  put  the  harpsichord  in  proper  order. 

Nicole  replied  that  if  she  were  not  called  during  the 
night,  she  would  rise  early,  and  would  have  both  these 
commissions  executed  before  her  young  lady  was  awake. 

“ To-morrow  also  I will  write  to  Philippe,”  said  Andree, 
speaking  to  herself;  “ that  will  console  me  a little.” 

“ Come  what  will,”  thought  Nicole,  “ I shall  not  carry 
the  letter.” 

And  at  this  reflection  the  girl,  who  was  not  quite  lost 
yet,  began  to  think,  in  saddened  mood,  that  she  was  about 
for  the  first  time  to  leave  that  excellent  mistress  under 
whose  care  her  mind  and  heart  had  been  awakened.  The 
thought  of  Andree  was  linked  in  her  mind  with  so  many 
other  recollections  that  to  touch  it  was  to  stir  the  whole 
chain  which  carried  her  back  to  the  first  days  of  infancy. 

While  these  two  young  creatures,  so  different  in  their 
character  and  their  condition,  were  thus  reflecting  beside 
each  other,  without  any  connection  existing  between  their 
thoughts,  time  was  rapidly  flying,  and  Andree’s  little  time- 
piece, which  was  always  in  advance  of  the  great  clock  of 
Trianon,  struck  nine.  Beausire  would  be  at  the  appointed 
place,  and  Nicole  had  but  half  an  hour  to  join  her  lover. 
She  finished  her  task  as  quickly  as  possible,  not  without 
uttering  some  sighs,  which  Andree  did  not  even  notice. 
She  folded  a night-shawl  around  her  mistress,  and  as 
Andree  still  sat  immovable,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 


THE  FLIGHT. 


199 


ceiling,  she  drew  Richelieu’s  phial  from  her  bosom,  put 
two  pieces  of  sugar  into  a goblet,  added  the  water  neces- 
sary to  melt  it,  and  without  hesitation,  and  by  the  reso- 
lute force  of  her  will,  so  strong  in  one  so  young,  she 
poured  two  drops  of  the  fluid  from  the  phial  into  the 
water,  which  immediately  became  turbid,  then  changed  to 
a slight  opal  tint,  which  soon  died  away. 

“ Mademoiselle,”  said  Nicole,  “ your  glass  of  water  is 
prepared,  your  clothes  are  folded,  the  night-lamp  is  lighted. 
You  know  I must  rise  very  early  to-morrow  morning  : 
may  I go  to  bed  now]” 

“ Yes,”  replied  Andree,  absently. 

Nicole  made  her  reverence,  heaved  a last  sigh,  ’which, 
like  the  others,  was  unnoticed,  and  closed  behind  her  the 
glass-door  leading  to  the  ante-room.  But  instead  of  retir- 
ing into  her  little  cell  adjoining  the  corridor  and  lighted 
from  Andree’s  ante-room,  she  softly  took  to  flight,  leaving 
the  door  of  the  corridor  ajar,  so  that  Richelieu’s  instruc- 
tions were  scrupulously  followed.  Then,  not  to  arouse 
the  attention  of  the  neighbors,  she  descended  the  stairs  on 
tiptoe,  bounded  down  the  outer  steps,  and  ran  quickly  to 
join  Monsieur  de  Beausire  at  the  gate. 

Gilbert  had  not  left  his  post  of  observation.  He  had 
heard  Nicole  say  that  she  would  return  in  two  hours,  and 
he  waited.  But  as  it  was  now  ten  minutes  past  the 
appointed  time,  he  began  to  fear  that  she  would  not 
return.  Suddenly  he  saw  her  running,  as  if  some  one 
were  pursuing  her. 

Nicole  approached  the  gate,  passed  the  key  through  the 
bars  to  Beausire,  who  opened  it ; she  rushed  out,  and  the 
gate  closed  with  a dull,  grating  noise.  The  key  was  then 
thrown  into  the  grass  in  the  ditch,  near  the  spot  where 
Gilbert  was  stationed.  He  heard  it  fall  with  a dead  sound, 
and  marked  the  place  where  it  had  dropped. 


200 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Nicole  and  Beausire  in  the  mean  time  gained  ground. 
Gilbert  heard  them  move  away;  and  soon  he  could  distin- 
guish, not  the  noise  of  a carriage,  as  Nicole  had  required, 
hut  the  pawing  of  a horse,  which,  after  some  moments* 
delay, — occupied  doubtless  by  Nicole  in  recrimination, 
who  had  wished  to  depart,  like  a duchess,  in  her  carriage, 

— changed  to  the  clattering  of  his  iron-shod  feet  on  the 
pavement,  and  at  last  died  away  in  the  distance. 

Gilbert  breathed  freely ; he  was  free,  free  from  Nicole, 

— that  is  to  say,  from  his  enemy.  Andr^e  was  alone. 
Perhaps  in  taking  flight  Nicole  had  left  the  key  in  the 
door ; perhaps  he  could  penetrate  to  Andree’s  chamber. 
This  idea  excited  the  impetuous  young  man  to  a frenzy  of 
fear  and  doubt,  of  curiosity  and  desire.  He  took  the 
direction  contrary  to  that  which  Nicole  was  pursuing,  and 
hurried  toward  the  offices  of  Trianon. 


DOUBLE  SIGHT. 


201 


CHAPTER  XX. 

DOUBLE  SIGHT. 

When  Andree  was  alone,  she  gradually  recovered  from 
the  mental  torpor  into  which  she  had  fallen ; and  while 
Nicole  was  flying  en  croupe  behind  Monsieur  de  Beausire, 
she  knelt  down  and  offered  up  a fervent  prayer  for  Phi- 
lippe, the  only  being  in  the  world  she  loved  with  a true 
and  deep  attachment ; and  while  she  prayed,  her  trust  in 
God  assumed  new  strength,  and  inspired  her  with  fresh 
courage. 

The  prayers  which  Andree  offered  were  not  composed  of 
a succession  of  words  strung  one  to  the  other,  they  were 
uttered  in  a kind  of  heavenly  ecstasy,  during  which  her 
soul  rose  to  her  God  and  mingled  with  his  spirit. 

In  these  impassioned  supplications  of  the  mind  freed 
from  earthly  concerns,  th^re  was  no  alloy  of  self.  Andree 
in  some  degree  abandoned  herself,  like  a shipwrecked  mari- 
ner who  has  lost  hope,  and  who  prays  no  longer  for  him- 
self, but  only  for  his  wife  and  children,  soon  to  become 
orphans.  This  inward  grief  had  sprung  up  in  Andr^e’s 
bosom  since  her  brother’s  departure ; but  it  was  not  en- 
tirely without  another  cause.  Like  her  prayer,  it  was 
composed  of  two  distinct  elements,  one  of  which  was 
quite  inexplicable  to  her.  It  was,  as  it  were,  a presenti- 
ment, — the  perceptible  approach  of  some  impending  mis- 
fortune. It  was  a sensation  resembling  that  of  darting 
pains  in  a cicatrized  wound.  The  continuous  pain  is  over, 
but  the  remembrance  of  it  survives,  and  reminds  the 


202 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


sufferer  of  the  calamity,  as  the  wound  itself  had  previously 
done. 

Andree  did  not  even  attempt  to  explain  her  feelings  to 
herself.  Devoted  heart  and  soul  to  Philippe,  she  centred 
in  her  beloved  brother  her  every  thought  and  every  affec- 
tion. Then  she  rose,  took  a book  from  her  modestly 
furnished  library,  placed  the  light  within  reach  of  her 
hand,  and  lay  down  on  the  bed.  The  book  she  had 
chosen,  or  rather  upon  which  she  had  accidentally  placed 
her  hand,  was  a dictionary  of  botany.  It  may  readily  be 
imagined  that  this  book  was  not  calculated  to  absorb  her 
attention ; on  the  contrary,  it  made  her  sleepy.  Gradually 
drowsiness  weighed  down  her  eyelids,  and  a filmy  veil  ob- 
scured her  vision.  For  a moment  the  young  girl  struggled 
against  sleep ; twice  or  thrice  she  collected  her  scattered 
thoughts,  which  soon  escaped  again  from  her  control; 
then,  raising  her  head  to  blow  out  the  candle,  she  per- 
ceived the  glass  of  water  prepared  by  Nicole,  stretched 
out  her  hand  and  took  the  glass,  stirred  the  sugar  with 
the  spoon,  and,  already  half-asleep,  she  raised  the  glass  to 
her  lips. 

Suddenly,  just  as  her  lips  were  already  touching  the 
beverage,  a strange  emotion  made  her  hand  tremble,  a 
moist  and  burning  weight  fell  on  her  brow,  and  Andree 
recognized  with  terror,  by  the  current  of  the  fluid  which 
rushed  through  her  nerves,  that  supernatural  attack  of 
mysterious  sensations  which  had  several  times  already 
triumphed  over  her  strength  and  overpowered  her  mind. 
She  had  only  time  to  place  the  glass  upon  the  plate,  when 
instantly,  without  a murmur,  but  with  a sigh  which  es- 
caped from  her  half-open  lips,  she  lost  the  use  of  voice, 
sight,  and  reason,  and  seized  with  a death-like  torpor,  fell 
back,  as  if  struck  by  lightning,  upon  her  bed.  But  this 
quasi-annihilation  was  but  the  momentary  transition  to 


DOUBLE  SIGHT. 


203 


another  state  of  existence.  For  a moment  she  seemed 
lifeless,  and  her  eyes  were  apparently  closed  in  the  slum- 
ber of  death;  but  suddenly  she  rose,  opened  her  eyes, 
which  stared  with  a fearful  fixity  of  gaze,  and  stepped 
down  from  her  bed  to  the  floor,  like  a marble  statue 
descending  from  a tomb. 

There  was  no  longer  room  for  doubt.  Andree  was  sunk 
in  that  marvellous  sleep  which  had  several  times  already 
suspended  her  vital  functions.  She  crossed  the  chamber, 
opened  the  glass-door,  and  entered  the  corridor  with  the 
fixed  and  rigid  attitude  of  breathing  marble.  She  reached 
the  stairs,  descended  step  by  step  without  hesitation  and 
without  haste,  and  emerged  upon  the  portico.  Just  as 
Andree  placed  her  foot  upon  the  topmost  step  to  descend, 
Gilbert  reached  the  lowest  on  his  way  up.  Seeing  this 
white  and  solemn  figure  advancing  as  if  to  meet  him,  he 
recoiled  before  her,  and,  still  retreating  as  she  advanced, 
he  concealed  himself  in  a clump  of  shrubs.  It  was  thus, 
he  recollected,  that  he  had  already  seen  Andree  de  Taver- 
ney  at  the  Chateau  of  Taverney. 

Andree  passed  close  by  him,  even  touched  him,  but  did 
not  see  him.  The  young  man,  thunderstruck,  speechless 
with  surprise,  sank  to  the  ground  on  one  knee.  His  limbs 
refused  to  support  him,  — he  was  afraid.  Not  knowing 
to  what  cause  to  attribute  this  strange  excursion,  he  fol- 
lowed her  with  his  eyes ; but  his  reason  was  confounded, 
his  blood  beat  impetuously  against  his  temples,  and  he 
was  in  a state  nearer  to  madness  than  to  the  coolness  and 
circumspection  necessary  for  an  observer. 

Gilbert  remained,  therefore,  crouching  on  the  grass 
among  the  leaves,  watching,  as  he  had  never  ceased  to  do 
since  this  fatal  attachment  had  entered  his  heart.  Imme- 
diately the  mystery  was  explained  : Andree  was  neither 
mad  nor  bewildered,  as  he  had  for  a moment  supposed  ,* 


204 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Andree,  with  this  slow,  sepulchral  step,  was  going  to  a 
rendezvous.  A gleam  of  lightning  now  furrowed  the  sky, 
and  by  its  blue  and  livid  light  Gilbert  saw  a man  con- 
cealed beneath  the  sombre  avenue  of  linden-trees;  and 
notwithstanding  the  rapidity  of  the  flash,  he  had  recog- 
nized the  pale  face  and  disordered  garments  of  the  man 
relieved  against  the  dark  background.  Andree  advanced 
toward  this  man,  whose  arm  was  extended  as  if  to  draw 
her  to  him. 

A sensation  like  the  branding  of  a red-hot  iron  rushed 
through  Gilbert’s  heart ; he  raised  himself  upon  his  knees 
to  see  more  clearly.  At  that  moment  another  flash  of 
lightning  illumined  the  sky.  He  recognized  Balsamo, 
covered  with  dust  and  perspiration,  — Balsamo,  who  by 
some  mysterious  means  had  succeeded  in  entering  Trianon, 
and  thus  drew  Andree  toward  him  as  invincibly,  as  fatally, 
as  the  serpent  fascinates  its  prey. 

When  two  paces  from  him  Andrfee  stopped.  Balsamo 
took  her  hand ; her  whole  frame  shuddered. 

“ Do  you  see  ? ” he  asked. 

“ Yes,”  replied  Andree ; " but  in  summoning  me  so 
suddenly,  you  have  nearly  killed  me.” 

“ Pardon,  pardon  ! ” replied  Balsamo  ; “ but  my  brain 
reels,  I am  beside  myself,  I am  nearly  mad,  I am  dying.” 
“You  are  indeed  suffering,”  said  Andree,  conscious  of 
Balsamo’s  feelings  by  the  contact  of  his  hand. 

“ Yes,  yes,”  replied  Balsamo  ; “ I suffer,  and  I come  to 
you  for  consolation.  You  alone  can  save  me.” 

“ Question  me.” 

“ Once  more,  do  you  see  ? ” 

“ Oh  ! perfectly.” 

“ Will  you  follow  me  to  my  house  ? Can  you  do  so  f ” 
“ I can,  if  you  will  conduct  me  there  in  thought.” 

“ Come ! 99 


DOUBLE  SIGHT. 


205 


“ Ah  ! ” said  Andree,  “ we  are  entering  Paris  ; we  follow 
the  boulevard,  we  plunge  into  a street  lighted  by  a single 
lamp.” 

“ Yes,  that  is  it.  Enter,  enter ! ” 

“We  are  in  an  antechamber.  There  is  a staircase  to 
the  right,  but  you  draw  me  toward  the  wall.  The  wall 
opens ; steps  appear  — ” 

“ Ascend  ! ” exclaimed  Balsamo  ; “that  is  our  way.” 

“ Ah ! we  are  in  a sleeping-chamber ; there  are  lions’ 
skins,  arms  — Stay,  the  back  of  the  fireplace  opens.” 

“ Pass  through  : where  are  you  ? ” 

“ In  a strange  sort  of  room,  without  any  outlet,  and  the 
windows  of  which  are  barred.  Oh ! how  disordered 
everything  in  the  room  appears.” 

“ But  empty,  — it  is  empty  is  it  not  1 ” 

“Yes,  empty.” 

“ Can  you  see  the  person  who  inhabited  it  ? ” 

“ Yes,  if  you  give  me  something  which  has  touched  her, 
which  comes  from  her,  or  which  belongs  to  her.” 

“ Hold  ! there  is  some  of  her  hair.” 

Andree  took  the  hair  and  placed  it  on  her  heart.  “ Oh  ! 
I recognize  her,”  said  she  ; “ I have  already  seen  this 
woman.  She  was  flying  toward  Paris.” 

“ Yes,  yes  ; can  you  tell  me  what  she  has  been  doing 
during  the  last  two  hours,  and  how  she  escaped  ] ” 

“Wait  a moment;  yes,  — she  is  reclining  upon  a sofa; 
her  breast  is  half  bared,  and  she  has  a wound  on  one 
side.” 

“ Look,  Andree,  look  ! do  not  lose  sight  of  her.” 

“ She  was  asleep ; she  awakes,  she  looks  around  ; sho 
takes  a handkerchief  and  climbs  upon  a chair.  She  ties 
the  handkerchief  to  the  bars  of  the  window  — oh  ! my 
God  ! ” 

“ She  is  really  determined  to  die,  then  1 ” 


206 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Oh,  yes  ! she  is  resolute.  But  this  sort  of  death  ter- 
rifies her.  She  leaves  the  handkerchief  tied  to  the  bars  ; 
she  descends  — ah  ! poor  woman  ! ” 

“ What  2” 

“ Oh ! how  she  weeps,  how  she  suffers,  and  wrings  her 
hands ! She  searches  for  a corner  of  the  wall  against 
which  to  dash  her  head  ! ” 

“ Oh,  my  God  ! my  God  ! ” murmured  Balsamo. 

“ She  rushes  toward  the  chimney-piece ! It  represents 
two  marble  lions  : she  will  dash  out  her  brains  against  the 
lions ! ” 

“ What  then  ] Look,  Andree,  look  ; I will  it ! 99 
“ She  stops.” 

Balsamo  breathed  again. 

“ She  looks — ” 

“ What  does  she  look  at  ] ” asked  Balsamo. 

“ She  has  perceived  some  blood  upon  the  lion’s  eye.” 

“ Oh,  heavens  ! 99 

“ Yes,  blood,  and  yet  she  did  not  strike  herself  against 
it.  Oh,  strange  ! the  blood  is  not  hers,  it  is  yours.” 
“Mine]”  asked  Balsamo,  frantic  with  excitement. 
“Yes,  yours.  You  had  cut  your  finger  with  a knife, 
with  a poniard  — and  had  touched  the  lion’s  eye  with 
your  bleeding  hand.  I see  you.” 

“ True,  true.  But  how  does  she  escape  ] 99 
“ Stay,  I see  her  examining  the  blood  ; she  reflects ; 
then  she  places  her  finger  where  you  had  placed  yours. 
Ah  ! the  lion’s  eye  gives  way ; a spring  acts ; the  chimney 
slab  swings  open  ! ” 

“ Oh  ! imprudent,  wretched  fool  that  I am,  — I have 
betrayed  myself ! ” 

Andree  was  silent. 

“ And  she  leaves  the  room  ] ” asked  Balsamo ; “ she 
escapes  ? ” 


DOUBLE  SIGHT. 


207 


“ Oh  ! you  must  forgive  the  poor  woman ; she  was  very 
miserable.” 

“ Where  is  she]  Whither  does  she  fly]  Follow  her, 
Andree  ; I will  it.” 

“ She  stops  for  a moment  in  the  chamber  of  furs  and 
armor ; a closet  is  open  ; a casket,  usually  locked  in  this 
closet,  is  upon  the  table ; she  recognizes  the  box ; she 
takes  it.” 

“ What  does  the  box  contain  ] ” 

“ Your  papers,  I think.” 

“Describe  it.” 

“It  is  covered  with  blue  velvet,  and  studded  with  brass 
nails,  — has  clasps  of  silver,  and  a silver  lock.” 

“ Oh  ! ” exclaimed  Balsamo,  stamping  with  anger,  “ it 
is  she,  then,  who  has  taken  the  casket  ] ” 

“ Yes.  She  descends  the  stairs  leading  into  the  ante- 
room, opens  the  door,  draws  back  the  chain  of  the  street- 
door,  and  goes  out.” 

“ Is  it  late  ] ” 

“ It  must  be  late,  for  it  is  dark.” 

“ So  much  the  better  ; she  must  have  fled  shortly  before 
my  return,  and  I shall  perhaps  have  time  to  overtake  her. 
Follow  her,  Andree  ; follow  her  ! ” 

“ Once  outside  the  house,  she  runs  as  if  she  were  mad ; 
she  reaches  the  boulevard ; she  hastens  on  without 
pausing.” 

“In  which  direction ] ” 

“Toward  the  Bastille.” 

“ You  see  her  yet  ] ” 

“ Yes  ; she  looks  like  a madwoman ; she  jostles  against 
the  passers-by.  At  length  she  stops ; she  endeavors  to 
discover  where  she  is  ; she  inquires.” 

“ What  does  she  say  ] Listen,  Andree,  listen ; in  Heav- 
en’s name  do  not  lose  a syllable ! You  say  she  inquires  ] ” 


208 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Yes,  she  addresses  a man  dressed  in  black.” 

“ What  does  she  ask  ] ” 

“ She  wishes  to  know  the  address  of  the  lieutenant  of 
police.” 

“ Oh  ! then  it  was  not  a vain  threat.  Does  the  person 
give  it  herl” 

“ Yes.” 

“ What  does  she  do  ? ” 

“ She  retraces  her  steps  and  turns  down  a winding 
street.  She  crosses  a large  square.” 

“ The  Place  Eoyale,  — it  is  the  direct  way.  Can  you 
read  her  intention  ] ” 

“ Follow  her  quickly  ; hasten  ! She  goes  to  betray  you  ! 
If  she  arrives  before  you,  and  sees  Monsieur  de  Sartines, 
you  are  lost ! ” 

Balsamo  uttered  a terrible  cry,  plunged  into  the  thicket, 
rushed  through  a little  door  which  a shadowy  apparition 
opened  and  closed  after  him,  and  leaped  with  one  bound 
on  his  faithful  Djerid,  who  was  pawing  the  ground  at  the 
little  gate.  The  animal,  urged  on  at  once  by  voice  and 
spur,  darted  like  an  arrow  toward  Paris  ; and  soon  nothing 
was  heard  but  the  clattering  of  his  hoofs  on  the  paved 
causeway. 

As  for  Andree,  she  remained  standing  there,  cold,  mute, 
and  pale.  Then,  as  if  Balsamo  had  borne  away  with  him 
life  and  strength,  she  tottered,  drooped,  and  fell.  Balsamo, 
in  his  eagerness  to  follow  Lorenza,  had  forgotten  to  awaken 
her. 


CATALEPSY. 


209 


CHAPTER  XXL 

CATALEPSY. 

As  we  have  said,  Andree  did  not  sink  all  at  once,  but 
gradually,  in  the  manner  we  will  attempt  to  describe. 

Alone,  abandoned,  overpowered  with  that  interior  cold- 
ness which  succeeds  any  violent  nervous  shock,  Andree 
began  to  tremble  and  totter  like  one  seized  by  an  epileptic 
fit.  Gilbert  still  remained  in  the  same  place,  — rigid, 
immovable,  leaning  forward,  and  devouring  her  with  his 
gaze.  But  as  it  may  readily  be  imagined,  Gilbert,  en- 
tirely ignorant  of  magnetic  phenomena,  thought  neither 
of  sleep  nor  of  subjected  will.  He  had  heard  nothing,  or 
almost  nothing,  of  her  dialogue  with  Balsamo.  But  for 
the  second  time,  at  Trianon  as  at  Taverney,  Andree  had 
appeared  to  obey  the  summons  of  this  man,  who  had  ac- 
quired such  a strange  and  terrible  power  over  her.  To 
Gilbert,  therefore,  the  situation  was  summed  up  in  these 
words  : “ Mademoiselle  Andree  has,  if  not  a lover,  at  least 
a man  whom  she  loves,  and  to  whom  she  grants  a rendez- 
vous at  night.” 

The  dialogue  which  had  taken  place  between  Andr6e 
and  Balsamo,  although  sustained  in  a low  voice,  had  all 
the  appearance  of  a quarrel.  Balsamo,  excited,  flying, 
frantic,  seemed  like  a lover  in  despair;  Andree,  left  alone, 
mute  and  motionless,  like  a loving  girl  abandoned.  It  was 
at  this  moment  that  he  saw  the  young  girl  totter,  wring 
her  hands,  and  turn  around  bewildered.  Then  she  uttered 
dull  groans  that  seemed  to  rend  her  burdened  heart.  She 
vol.  in.  — 14 


210 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


endeavored,  or  rather  Nature  endeavored,  to  throw  back 
the  overpowering  mass  of  fluid  which,  during  the  magnetic 
sleep,  had  endowed  her  with  that  double  sight  whose  phe- 
nomena we  saw  manifested  in  the  last  chapter. 

But  Nature  was  overpowered  ; Andree  could  not  succeed 
in  throwing  off  the  bonds  of  that  mysterious  will  which 
Balsamo  had  forgotten  to  withdraw.  She  could  not  loose 
the  marvellous,  inexplicable  ties  which  had  bound  her 
hand  and  foot;  and  by  dint  of  struggling,  she  fell  into 
those  convulsions  which  in  the  olden  time  the  Pythoness 
suffered  upon  her  tripod  before  the  crowd  of  religious 
questioners  who  swarmed  around  the  peristyle  of  the 
temple. 

Andree  lost  her  balance,  and  with  a moan  of  pain  sank 
toward  the  ground  as  if  she  had  been  struck  by  the  flash 
which  at  that  moment  furrowed  the  vault  of  heaven.  But 
she  had  not  yet  touched  the  earth  when  Gilbert,  strong 
and  agile  as  a tiger,  darted  toward  her,  seized  her  in  his 
arms,  and  without  being  conscious  that  he  carried  a bur- 
den, bore  her  back  into  the  chamber  which  she  had  left  to 
obey  Balsamo’s  summons,  and  in  which  the  candle  was 
yet  burning  beside  the  disarranged  couch. 

Gilbert  found  all  the  doors  open  as  Andrde  had  left 
them.  As  he  entered,  he  stumbled  against  the  sofa,  and 
placed  on  it  the  cold  and  inanimate  form  of  the  young 
girl.  His  contact  with  that  lifeless  frame  had  stirred  a 
fever  within  him ; his  nerves  quivered,  his  blood  boiled. 
His  first  thought,  however,  was  chaste  and  pure.  It  was 
necessary,  first  of  all,  to  recall  this  beautiful  statue  to  life. 
He  looked  round  for  the  carafe,  in  order  to  sprinkle  some 
drops  of  water  in  Andree’s  face.  But  just  as  his  trembling 
hand  was  stretched  forth  to  grasp  the  thin  neck  of  the 
crystal  ewer,  it  seemed  to  him  that  a firm  but  light  step 
sounded  on  the  stairs  leading  to  Andree’s  chamber.  It 


CATALEPSY. 


211 


could  not  be  Nicole,  for  Nicole  had  fled  with  Monsieur  de 
Beausire ; it  could  not  be  Balsamo,  for  Balsamo  was  spur- 
ring with  lightning  haste  to  Paris.  It  must  therefore  be 
a stranger.  Gilbert,  if  discovered,  was  lost ; Andree  was 
to  him  like  one  of  those  princesses  of  Spain  whom  a sub- 
ject may  not  touch,  even  to  save  from  death. 

All  these  ideas  rushed  like  a whirlwind  through  Gil- 
bert’s mind  in  less  time  than  that  fatal  step  required  to 
mount  another  stair.  He  could  not  calculate  the  exact 
distance  of  the  footstep,  which  every  moment  approached 
still  nearer,  for  the  storm  which  raged  without  dulled 
every  other  sound  ; but  gifted  with  extraordinary  cool- 
ness and  foresight,  the  young  man  understood  that  that 
was  no  place  for  him,  and  that  the  most  important  matter 
was  to  conceal  himself  from  sight.  He  hastily  blew  out 
the  candle  which  illumined  Andree’s  apartment,  and  en- 
tered the  cabinet  which  served  as  Nicole’s  sleeping-cham- 
ber. From  this  hiding-place  he  could  see  through  the 
glass-door  into  Andree’s  apartment,  and  also  into  the 
antechamber. 

In  this  antechamber  a night-lamp  was  burning  upon  a 
little  table.  Gilbert  had  at  first  thought  of  extinguishing 
it,  as  he  had  extinguished  the  candle  ; but  he  had  not  time. 
The  step  creaked  in  the  corridor,  a repressed  breathing  was 
heard,  the  figure  of  a man  appeared  upon  the  threshold, 
glided  timidly  into  the  antechamber,  closed  the  door,  and 
bolted  it. 

Gilbert  had  only  time  to  hasten  into  Nicole's  cabinet 
and  to  close  the  glass-door  after  him.  He  held  his  breath, 
pressed  his  face  against  the  stained-glass  panes,  and  lis- 
tened eagerly. 

The  storm  still  howled  wildly  outside,  large  rain-drops 
beat  against  the  windows  of  Andree’s  apartment  and  those 
of  the  corridor,  where  a casement,  accidentally  left  open, 


212 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


creaked  upon  its  hinges,  and  every  now  and  then,  dashed 
back  by  the  wind  which  rushed  into  the  corridor,  struck 
noisily  against  its  frame. 

But  the  war  of  the  elements,  terrible  as  it  was,  produced 
no  effect  on  Gilbert.  His  whole  soul  was  concentrated  in 
his  gaze,  which  was  riveted  upon  this  man,  who  crossed 
the  antechamber,  passed  not  two  paces  distant  from  Gil- 
bert, and  unhesitatingly  entered  the  chamber. 

Gilbert  saw  the  man  advance,  feeling  his  way,  to  An- 
dree’s  bed,  make  a gesture  of  surprise  on  seeing  the  bed 
unoccupied,  and  almost  immediately  jostle  with  his  arm 
the  candle  upon  the  table.  The  candle  fell,  and  Gilbert 
heard  the  crystal  socket  break  in  falling  on  the  marble 
table.  Then  the  man  called  twice  in  a subdued  voice, 
“ Nicole  ! Nicole  ! ” 

“ What,  Nicole  ! ” thought  Gilbert,  in  his  hiding-place. 
“ Why  does  this  man  call  Nicole  instead  of  Andree ! 77 

But  as  no  voice  replied  to  his,  the  man  lifted  the  candle 
from  the  floor,  and  proceeded  on  tiptoe  to  light  it  at  the 
night-lamp  in  the  antechamber.  It  was  then  that  Gilbert 
fixed  his  whole  attention  upon  this  strange  nocturnal  vis- 
itor ; he  gazed  as  if  his  vision  could  have  pierced  the  wall. 
Suddenly  he  trembled,  and  even  in  his  hiding-place  re- 
coiled a step. 

By  the  light  of  the  two  flames  combined,  Gilbert,  trem- 
bling and  half-dead  with  affright,  recognized  in  this  man 
who  held  the  candle  in  his  hand  — the  king  ! 

Then  all  was  explained,  — Nicole’s  flight,  the  money 
she  had  given  Beausire,  the  door  left  open,  the  inter- 
views between  Richelieu  and  Taverney,  and  all  that  dark 
and  mysterious  intrigue  of  which  the  young  girl  was  the 
centre. 

Then  Gilbert  understood  why  the  king  had  called 
Nicole,  the  instrument  of  that  crime,  the  complaisant 


CATALEPSY. 


213 


Judas  who  had  sold  and  delivered  up  her  mistress  ! But 
at  the  thought  of  the  king’s  purpose  in  coming  to  that 
chamber,  at  the  thought  of  what  was  about  to  take  place 
before  him,  the  blood  rushed  to  his  eyes  and  blinded  him. 
He  had  the  impulse  to  cry  out ; but  fear,  that  unreflecting, 
capricious,  irresistible  sentiment,  — the  fear  he  had  of  that 
man,  still  full  of  prestige,  who  was  called  the  king  of  France, 
tied  his  tongue. 

Louis  XV.  meanwhile  had  returned  to  the  chamber, 
candle  in  hand.  Immediately  he  saw  Andree,  in  a robe  of 
white  muslin  which  left  her  person  partially  uncovered,  her 
head  leaning  against  the  back  of  the  sofa,  one  leg  resting  on 
the  cushion,  and  the  other,  inflexible  and  bare,  resting  on 
the  carpet.  At  that  sight  the  king  smiled.  The  candle 
lighted  up  that  sinister  smile  ; but  almost  at  the  same 
time  a smile  equally  sinister  appeared  on  Andree’s  face. 
Louis  XV.  murmured  a few  words,  which  Gilbert  under- 
stood to  be  words  of  love,  and  placing  his  light  on  the 
table,  glancing  as  he  turned  at  the  illumined  sky,  he  went 
and  knelt  down  before  the  young  girl  and  kissed  her 
hand. 

Gilbert  wiped  away  the  perspiration  coursing  down  his 
face.  Andree  did  not  stir. 

The  king,  perceiving  that  Andree’s  hand  was  cold,  took 
it  in  his  own  to  warm  it,  and  passing  his  other  arm  around 
that  body  so  beautiful  and  so  sweet,  he  leaned  forward  to 
murmur  in  her  ear  some  of  that  fond  nonsense  which  is 
breathed  sometimes  in  the  ears  of  young  girls  asleep.  At 
that  moment  his  face  approached  Andree’s  so  closely  as  to 
touch  it  lightly. 

Gilbert  felt  in  his  pocket,  and  breathed  more  freely  as 
he  grasped  the  handle  of  a long  knife  which  he  was  wont 
to  use  in  trimming  the  trees  of  the  park. 

The  king  found  Andree’s  face  as  cold  as  her  hand.  He 


214 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


rose  to  his  feet.  His  eyes  fell  on  Andrde’s  naked  foot, 
white  and  small  as  that  of  Cinderella.  He  took  it  be- 
tween his  hands ; it  was  as  cold  as  that  of  a marble 
statue.  The  king  was  startled. 

Gilbert,  gazing  upon  the  charms  of  that  beauteous,  un- 
veiled form,  and  feeling  as  if  the  threatened  crime  was 
about  to  be  committed  against  himself,  ground  his  teeth 
and  opened  the  knife,  which  until  then  he  had  held  closed 
in  his  hand. 

' But  the  king  had  already  abandoned  Andrfee’s  foot,  as 
he  had  abandoned  her  hand  and  her  face,  and,  surprised 
by  the  young  girl’s  sleep,  which  at  first  he  had  ascribed  to 
a coquettish  prudery,  he  sought  to  account  for  the  deathly 
coldness  which  had  seized  upon  the  extremities  of  that 
lovely  body  ; he  asked  himself  if  the  heart  could  still  beat 
when  hand,  foot,  and  face  were  so  cold.  He  parted,  there- 
fore, Andree’s  robe,  exposing  her  virginal  breast,  and  with 
a touch  at  once  timid  and  cynical  he  questioned  the  heart, 
silent  beneath  that  flesh,  cold  as  alabaster,  and  as  white 
and  firm  in  its  rounded  form. 

Gilbert  glided  half  through  the  doorway,  with  his  knife 
in  his  hand,  his  eyes  flashing,  his  teeth  pressed  together, 
determined,  should  the  king  continue  his  enterprises,  to 
stab  him  and  then  to  stab  himself. 

Just  then  a fearful  peal  of  thunder  made  every  article 
of  furniture  in  the  room  shake,  even  to  the  couch  before 
which  Louis  was  kneeling.  A livid  and  sulphureous  flash 
of  lightning  threw  so  dazzling  a light  over  Andree’s  coun- 
tenance that  Louis,  alarmed  at  her  paleness,  her  motionless 
attitude,  and  her  silence,  started  back,  murmuring  : “ This 
girl  is  surely  dead  ! ” 

At  the  same  instant  the  idea  of  having  kissed  a corpse 
sent  an  icy  chill  through  the  king’s  veins.  He  seized  the 
candle,  held  it  close  to  Andree’s  face,  and  hastily  exam- 
ined her  features  by  the  light  of  the  trembling  flame. 


CATALEPSY. 


215 


Beholding  her  livid  lips,  her  swollen  and  discolored  eyes, 
her  dishevelled  hair,  her  chest  which  no  breath  stirred,  he 
uttered  a cry,  let  the  light  fall,  staggered  hack,  and  reeled 
like  a drunken  man  into  the  ante-room,  against  the  walls  of 
which  he  stumbled  in  his  alarm.  His  hasty  step  sounded 
upon  the  stairs,  then  on  the  gravel  walks  of  the  garden, 
and  was  soon  lost  in  the  howling  storm  which  raged 
through  the  long  alleys  and  shady  groves  of  Trianon. 

Then  Gilbert,  silent  and  gloomy,  still  holding  his 
knife,  went  out  from  his  hiding-place.  He  advanced  to 
the  threshold  of  Andree’s  chamber,  and  for  several  seconds 
looked  at  the  young  girl  buried  in  her  deep  sleep.  Mean- 
while the  candle  dropped  by  the  king  was  still  burning, 
overturned  upon  the  carpet,  and  threw  its  light  on  the 
delicate  foot  and  the  marble  limbs  of  that  adorable  body. 

Gilbert  slowly  closed  his  knife,  while  his  face  gradually 
assumed  the  expression  of  an  inexorable  resolution  ; then 
he  went  to  listen  at  the  door  by  which  the  king  had  de- 
parted. He  listened  more  than  a full  minute.  Then  he, 
as  the  king  had  done,  closed  the  door  and  pushed  home 
the  bolt.  Then  he  blew  out  the  light  in  the  antechamber. 
Finally,  with  the  same  deliberation,  with  the  same  sombre 
fire  in  his  eyes,  he  returned  to  Andree’s  chamber  and  put 
his  foot  on  the  candle,  still  wasting  on  the  carpet.  A 
sudden  darkness  obscured  the  fatal  smile  which  hovered 
on  his  lips.  “ Andree,  Andree  ! ” he  murmured,  “ I prom- 
ised you  that  the  third  time  you  should  fall  into  my  power 
you  would  not  escape  me  as  you  had  before.  Andree, 
Andree  ! to  the  terrible  romance  which  you  accused  me  of 
inventing,  there  must  be  a terrible  end  ! ” And  with  arms 
extended,  he  went  straight  to  the  sofa  where  Andree  was 
lying,  still  cold,  motionless,  and  unconscious. 


316 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  WILL. 

We  have  seen  Balsamo  depart.  Djerid  bore  him  on  with 
the  speed  of  lightning,  while  the  rider,  pale  with  terror 
and  impatience,  bent  forward  over  the  flowing  mane, 
breathing  with  half-opened  lips  the  air  which  the  crest  of 
the  noble  steed  cleft  as  the  rapid  prow  of  the  vessel  cuts 
the  waves.  Behind  him  houses  and  trees  disappeared  like 
fantastic  visions.  He  scarcely  perceived,  as  he  passed,  the 
clumsy  wagon  groaning  on  its  axle-tree,  while  its  five  huge 
horses  started  wflth  affright  at  the  approach  of  this  living 
meteor,  which  they  could  not  imagine  to  belong  to  the 
same  race  as  themselves. 

Balsamo  proceeded  at  this  rate  for  a league,  with  whirl- 
ing brain,  sparkling  eyes,  and  panting  breath.  Horse  and 
rider  had  traversed  Versailles  in  a few  seconds.  The 
startled  inhabitants  who  happened  to  be  in  the  streets  had 
seen  a train  of  sparks  flash  past  them,  — nothing  more. 
A second  league  was  passed  in  like  manner.  Djerid  had 
accomplished  the  distance  in  little  more  than  a quarter  of 
an  hour,  and  yet  this  quarter  of  an  hour  had  seemed  to 
his  rider  a century.  Suddenly  a thought  darted  through 
his  brain.  He  pulled  up  suddenly,  throwing  the  noble 
courser  back  upon  his  haunches,  while  his  fore-feet 
ploughed  the  ground. 

Horse  and  rider  breathed  for  a moment.  Drawing  a 
long  breath,  Balsamo  raised  his  head.  Then  wiping  the 
perspiration  from  his  forehead,  while  his  nostrils  dilated  in 


THE  WILL. 


217 


the  breeze  of  night,  he  murmured : “ Oh ! madman  that 
you  are,  neither  the  rapidity  of  your  steed  nor  the  ardor 
of  your  desire  will  ever  equal  the  instantaneous  effect  of 
thunder  or  the  rapidity  of  the  electric  flash ; and  yet  it  is 
that  which  you  require  to  avert  the  danger  impending  over 
you ! You  require  the  rapid  effect,  the  instantaneous,  the 
all-powerful  shock,  which  will  paralyze  the  feet  whose 
activity  you  fear,  the  tongue  whose  speech  destroys  you. 
You  require,  at  this  distance,  the  victorious  sleep  which 
restores  to  you  the  possession  of  the  slave  who  has  broken 
her  chain.  Oh  ! if  she  should  ever  again  be  in  my 
power ! ” and  Balsamo,  grinding  his  teeth,  made  a gesture 
of  despair. 

“ Oh ! you  do  well  to  wish,  Balsamo ; you  do  well  to 
fly  ! ” he  exclaimed.  “ Lorenza  has  already  arrived,  she  is 
about  to  speak,  — she  has  perhaps  already  spoken.  Oh  ! 
wretched  woman,  no  punishment  can  be  terrible  enough 
for  you. 

“ Let  me  try,”  continued  Balsamo,  frowning,  his  eyes 
fixed,  and  his  chin  resting  on  his  hand ; “ let  me  try. 
Either  science  is  a dream  or  a fact ; it  is  either  impotent 
or  powerful,  — let  me  try.  Lorenza,  Lorenza  ! it  is  my 
will  that  you  sleep,  wheresoever  you  may  be.  Lorenza, 
sleep,  — sleep ! it  is  my  will ! I reckon  upon  your 
obedience  1 

“ Oh,  no,  no ! ” he  murmured,  despairingly ; “ no,  I 
utter  a falsehood ; I do  not  believe,  — I dare  not  reckon 
upon  it ; and  yet  the  will  is  all.  Oh  ! I will  it  with  my 
whole  soul,  with  all  the  strength  of  my  being.  Cleave  the 
air,  my  potent  will ; traverse  all  the  currents  of  opposing 
or  indifferent  wills;  pass  through  walls  in  thy  course  like 
a bullet  from  a gun;  follow  her  wherever  she  is.  Go, 
strike,  destroy ! Lorenza,  Lorenza  ! it  is  my  will  that 
you  sleep  ; be  dumb  at  my  command  1 ” 


218 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


And  for  some  moments  he  concentrated  his  thoughts 
upon  this  aim,  imprinting  it  on  his  brain  as  if  to  lend  it 
more  speed  in  its  flight  toward  Paris.  Then  after  this 
mysterious  operation  — in  which  doubtless  all  the  divine 
atoms  animated  by  God,  the  master  and  lord  of  all  things, 
assisted  — Balsamo,  once  more  setting  his  teeth  hard  and 
clenching  his  hands,  gave  the  reins  to  Djerid,  but  this 
time  without  using  either  the  knee  or  the  spurs.  It 
seemed  as  if  Balsamo  wished  to  convince  himself. 

The  noble  steed  paced  gently  onward  in  obedience  to 
the  tacit  permission  of  his  master,  placing  his  hoof  gently 
upon  the  pavement  with  the  light  and  noiseless  step  pecu- 
liar to  his  race.  During  all  this  time,  which  to  a super- 
ficial observer  would  have  seemed  entirely  lost,  Balsamo 
was  arranging  a complete  plan  of  defence.  He  concluded 
it  just  as  Djerid  entered  the  streets  of  Sevres.  Arrived 
opposite  the  park-gates,  he  stopped  and  looked  round,  as  if 
expecting  some  one.  Almost  immediately  a man  emerged 
from  beneath  a carriage  entrance,  and  advanced  toward  him. 
“ Is  that  you,  Fritz  h ” asked  Balsamo. 

“ Yes,  Master.” 

“ Have  you  made  inquiries  1 ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Is  Madame  Dubarry  in  Paris,  or  at  Luciennes'?” 

“ She  is  in  Paris.” 

Balsamo  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven  with  a triumphant 
look. 

“ How  did  you  come  'l  ” 

“ On  Sultan.” 

“ Where  is  he  ? ” 

“ In  the  court-yard  of  this  inn.” 

“ Saddled  1 ” 

“ Yes.” 

“Very  well ; get  ready  to  follow  me.” 


THE  WILL. 


219 


Fritz  hastened  to  bring  out  Sultan,  — one  of  those 
strong  German  horses,  of  good  disposition,  who  grumble  a 
little  at  forced  marches,  but  who,  nevertheless,  go  as  long 
as  they  have  breath  in  their  lungs,  or  while  there  is  a spur 
at  their  master’s  heel.  Fritz  returned  to  Balsamo,  who 
was  writing  by  the  light  of  a street-lantern. 

“ Return  to  Paris,”  said  he,  “ and  manage  by  some 
means  to  give  this  note  to  Madame  Dubarry  in  person. 
You  have  half  an  hour  for  this  purpose.  After  which 
you  will  return  to  the  Rue  Saint  Claude,  where  you 
will  wait  for  Madame  Lorenza,  who  cannot  fail  to  return 
soon.  You  will  let  her  pass  without  any  observation 
and  without  offering  any  opposition.  Go,  and  remember, 
above  all,  that  in  half  an  hour  your  commission  must 
be  executed.” 

“ It  is  well,”  said  Fritz ; “ it  shall  be  done.”  As  he 
gave  this  confident  reply  to  Balsamo,  he  attacked  Sultan 
with  whip  and  spur,  and  the  good  steed  started  off,  aston- 
ished at  this  unusual  aggression,  and  neighing  piteously. 

Balsamo  by  degrees  resumed  his  composure,  and  took 
the  road  to  Paris,  which  he  entered  three  quarters  of  an 
hour  afterward,  appearing  quite  fresh,  and  wearing  a calm, 
or  rather  a thoughtful,  expression. 

Balsamous  reasoning  had  been  correct.  However  swift 
Djerid,  that  whinnying  son  of  the  desert,  might  be,  his 
speed  was  in  this  case  useless  ; thought  alone  could  hope 
to  overtake  Lorenza  in  her  flight  from  prison.  From  the 
Rue  Saint  Claude  she  had  gained  the  boulevard ; and  turn- 
ing to  the  right,  she  soon  saw  the  walls  of  the  Bastille  rise 
before  her.  But  Lorenza,  constantly  a prisoner,  was  en- 
tirely ignorant  of  Paris.  Moreover,  her  first  aim  was  to 
escape  from  that  accursed  house  in  which  she  saw  only  a 
dungeon  ; vengeance  was  a secondary  consideration.  She 
had  just  entered  the  Faubourg  Saint  Antoine,  hastening 


220 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


onward  with  bewildered  steps,  when  she  was  accosted 
by  a young  man  who  had  been  following  her  for  some 
moments  with  astonishment. 

In  fact,  Lorenza,  an  Italian  girl  from  the  neighborhood 
of  Eome,  having  almost  always  lived  a secluded  life,  far 
from  all  knowledge  of  the  fashions  and  customs  of  the  age, 
was  dressed  more  like  an  Oriental  than  a European  lady  ; 
that  is,  in  flowing  and  sumptuous  robes,  — very  unlike  the 
charming  dolls  of  that  time,  confined,  like  wasps,  in  long, 
tight  waists,  rustling  with  silk  and  muslin,  under  which 
it  was  almost  useless  to  seek  a body,  their  utmost  ambition 
being  to  appear  immaterial. 

Lorenza  had  only  adopted  from  the  French  costume  of 
that  period  the  shoes  with  heels  two  inches  high,  — that 
strange-looking  invention  which  stiffened  the  foot,  dis- 
played the  beauty  of  the  ankle,  and  which  rendered  it 
impossible  for  the  Arethusas  of  that  rather  mythological 
age  to  fly  from  the  pursuit  of  their  Alpheuses. 

The  Alpheus  who  pursued  our  Arethusa  easily  overtook 
her,  therefore.  He  had  seen  her  lovely  ankles  peeping 
from  beneath  her  petticoats  of  satin  and  lace,  her  unpow- 
dered hair,  and  her  dark  eyes  sparkling  with  a strange  fire 
from  under  a mantilla  thrown  over  her  head  and  neck, 
and  he  imagined  he  saw  in  Lorenza  a lady  disguised  for  a 
masquerade  or  for  a rendezvous,  and  proceeding  on  foot, 
for  want  of  a coach,  to  some  little  house  of  the  faubourg. 
He  approached  her,  therefore,  and  walking  beside  her, 
hat  in  hand,  “ Good  heavens ! Madame,”  said  he,  “ you 
cannot  go  far  in  this  costume  and  with  these  shoes,  which 
retard  your  progress.  Will  you  accept  my  arm  until  we 
find  a coach,  and  allow  me  the  honor  of  accompanying  you 
to  your  destination  ? ” 

Lorenza  turned  her  head  abruptly,  gazed  with  her  dark, 
expressive  eyes  at  the  man  who  thus  made  her  an  offer 


THE  WILL. 


221 


which  to  many  ladies  would  have  appeared  an  impertinent 
one,  and  stopping,  “ Yes,”  said  she,  “ most  willingly.” 

The  young  man  gallantly  offered  his  arm.  “ Whither 
are  we  going,  Madame  h ” he  asked. 

“ To  the  hotel  of  the  lieutenant  of  police.” 

The  young  man  started.  “ To  Monsieur  de  Sartines  1 ” 
he  inquired. 

“ I do  not  know  whether  his  name  is  Monsieur  de 
Sartines  or  not ; I wish  to  speak  to  whoever  is  lieutenant 
of  police.” 

The  young  man  began  to  reflect.  A young  and  hand- 
some woman  wandering  alone  in  the  streets  of  Paris  at 
eight  o’clock  in  the  evening,  in  a strange  costume,  holding 
a box  under  her  arm,  and  inquiring  for  the  hotel  of  the 
lieutenant  of  police,  while  she  was  going  in  the  contrary 
direction,  seemed  to  him  suspicious. 

“ Ah,  diable  /”  said  he  ; “ the  h6tel  of  the  lieutenant  of 
police  is  not  in  this  direction  at  all.” 

“ Where  is  it,  then  ” 

“ In  the  Faubourg  Saint  Germain.” 

“ And  how  must  I go  to  the  Faubourg  Saint  Germain  ” 
“ This  way,  Madame,”  replied  the  young  man,  calm,  but 
always  polite;  “and  if  you  wish,  we  can  take  the  first 
coach  we  meet  — ” 

“ Oh,  yes  ! a coach ; you  are  right.” 

The  young  man  conducted  Lorenza  back  to  the  boule- 
vard, and  having  met  a fiacre,  he  hailed  it.  The  coach- 
man answered  his  summons. 

“ Where  to,  Madame  1 ” he  asked. 

“To  the  h6tel  of  Monsieur  de  Sartines,”  said  the  young 
man ; and  with  a last  effort  of  politeness,  or  rather  of  as- 
tonishment, having  opened  the  coach-door,  he  bowed  to 
Lorenza ; and  after  assisting  her  to  get  in,  stood  looking 
after  her  as  one  stands  gazing  in  a dream.  The  coachman, 


222 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


full  of  respect  for  the  dreadful  name,  gave  his  horse  the 
whip,  and  drove  rapidly  in  the  direction  indicated. 

It  was  while  Lorenza  was  thus  crossing  the  Place  Royale 
that  Andree  in  her  magnetic  sleep  had  seen  and  heard 
her,  and  denounced  her  to  Balsamo.  In  twenty  minutes 
Lorenza  was  at  the  door  of  the  hotel. 

“ Must  I wait  for  you,  my  fair  lady  ? ” asked  the 
coachman. 

“Yes,”  replied  Lorenza,  mechanically;  and  stepping 
lightly  from  the  coach,  she  disappeared  beneath  the  portal 
of  the  splendid  hotel. 


THE  HOTEL  OF  MONSIEUR  DE  SARTINES.  223 


CHAPTEE  XXIII. 

THE  HOTEL  OF  MONSIEUR  DE  SARTINES. 

The  moment  Lorenza  entered  the  courtyard,  she  found 
herself  surrounded  by  a crowd  of  soldiers  and  officers. 
She  addressed  the  guardsman  who  stood  nearest  to  her, 
and  begged  him  to  conduct  her  to  the  lieutenant  of  police. 
The  guardsman  handed  her  over  to  the  porter,  who,  seeing 
a beautiful  stranger,  richly  dressed,  and  holding  a magni- 
ficent coffer  under  her  arm,  thought  that  the  visit  might 
prove  to  be  an  important  one,  and  preceded  her  up  the  grand 
staircase  to  an  antechamber,  where,  after  the  sagacious 
scrutiny  of  the  porter,  every  visitor  could  be  admitted  to 
present  an  explanation,  an  accusation,  or  a request,  to 
Monsieur  de  Sartines,  at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night.  It 
is  needless  to  say  that  the  first  two  classes  of  visitors  were 
more  favorably  received  than  the  last. 

Lorenza,  when  questioned  by  the  usher,  replied  only, 
“ Are  you  Monsieur  de  Sartines  ? ” 

The  usher  was  profoundly  astonished  that  any  one  could 
mistake  his  black  dress  and  steel  chain  for  the  embroidered 
coat  and  flowing  wig  of  the  lieutenant  of  police  ; but  as 
no  lieutenant  is  ever  angry  at  being  called  captain,  as  he 
marked  the  foreign  accent  of  the  lady,  and  as  her  firm  and 
steady  gaze  was  not  that  of  a lunatic,  he  felt  convinced 
that  the  fair  visitor  had  something  important  in  the  coffer 
which  she  held  so  carefully  and  so  securely  under  her 
arm. 


224 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Nevertheless,  since  Monsieur  de  Sartines  was  a prudent 
and  suspicious  man,  since  traps  had  been  laid  for  him  with 
baits  not  less  enticing  than  that  of  the  beautiful  Italian, 
there  was  good  watch  kept  around  him,  and  Lorenza  had 
to  undergo  the  investigation,  the  questioning,  and  the  sus- 
picions of  half  a dozen  secretaries  and  valets.  The  upshot 
of  all  these  questions  and  replies  was  that  Monsieur  de 
Sartines  had  not  yet  returned,  and  that  Lorenza  must 
wait.  Then  the  young  woman  sank  into  a moody  silence, 
and  her  eyes  wandered  over  the  bare  walls  of  the  vast 
antechamber. 

At  last  the  ringing  of  a bell  was  heard  ; a carriage 
rolled  into  the  courtyard,  and  a second  usher  entered,  and 
announced  to  Lorenza  that  Monsieur  de  Sartines  was 
waiting  for  her. 

Lorenza  rose,  and  crossed  two  halls  full  of  people  with 
suspicious-looking  faces,  and  dresses  still  more  strange 
than  her  own.  At  last  she  was  introduced  into  a large 
cabinet  of  an  octagon  form,  lighted  by  a number  of  wax 
candles. 

A man  of  from  fifty  to  fifty-five  years  of  age,  enveloped 
in  a dressing-gown,  his  head  surmounted  by  a wig  pro- 
fusely powdered  and  curled,  was  seated  at  work  before  a 
lofty  piece  of  furniture,  the  upper  part  of  which,  somewhat 
resembling  in  form  a cupboard,  was  closed  with  two  doors 
of  looking-glass,  in  which  the  person  seated  could,  without 
moving,  see  those  who  entered  the  room,  and  could  exam- 
ine their  features  before  they  had  time  to  compose  them 
in  harmony  with  his  own. 

The  lower  part  of  this  article  of  furniture  formed  a sec- 
retary. A number  of  rosewood  drawers  composed  the 
front,  each  of  which  closed  by  the  combination  of  some 
letters  of  the  alphabet.  Monsieur  de  Sartines  kept  in 
them  his  papers,  and  the  ciphers  which  no  one  could  read 


THE  HOTEL  OF  MONSIEUR  DE  SARTINES.  225 


while  he  lived,  since  the  drawers  opened  for  him  alone, 
and  which  none  could  decipher  after  his  death,  unless  in 
some  drawer,  still  more  secret  than  the  others,  he  should 
find  the  key  to  the  cipher. 

This  secretary,  or  rather  this  cupboard,  contained  be- 
hind the  glasses  of  the  upper  part,  twelve  drawers,  also 
closed  by  an  invisible  mechanism.  This  piece  of  furni- 
ture, constructed  expressly  by  the  regent  to  contain  his 
chemical  or  political  secrets,  had  been  given  by  that  prince 
to  Dubois,  and  left  by  Dubois  to  Monsieur  Dombreval, 
lieutenant  of  police.  It  was  from  the  latter  that  Monsieur 
de  Sartines  had  inherited  the  secretary  and  the  secret. 
However,  Monsieur  de  Sartines  had  not  consented  to  use  it 
until  after  the  death  of  the  donor,  and  even  then  he  had 
had  all  the  arrangements  of  the  locks  altered. 

This  piece  of  furniture  had  some  reputation  in  the  world, 
and  shut  too  closely,  people  said,  for  Monsieur  de  Sartines 
to  keep  only  his  wigs  in  it.  The  grumblers,  and  their 
name  was  legion  at  this  period,  said  that  if  it  were  possible 
to  read  through  the  panels  of  this  secretary,  there  would 
most  certainly  have  been  discovered,  in  one  of  its  drawers, 
the  famous  treaty  by  virtue  of  which  Louis  XV.  specu- 
lated in  grain,  through  the  intervention  of  his  devoted 
agent,  Monsieur  de  Sartines. 

The  lieutenant  of  police  therefore  saw,  reflected  in  the 
glass,  the  pale,  serious  face  of  Lorenza  as  she  advanced 
toward  him  with  the  coffer  still  beneath  her  arm.  In  the 
centre  of  the  apartment  the  young  woman  stopped.  Her 
costume,  her  figure,  and  the  strangeness  of  her  proceedings, 
struck  the  lieutenant.  “ Who  are  you  1 ” he  asked,  with- 
out turning  round,  but  looking  at  her  in  the  glass. 
“ What  do  you  want  with  me  1 ” 

“ Am  I in  the  presence  of  Monsieur  de  Sartines,  lieute- 
nant of  police  h ” replied  Lorenza. 

vol.  hi.  — 16 


226 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Yes,”  replied  he,  abruptly. 

“ Who  will  assure  me  of  that  ? ” 

Monsieur  de  Sartines  turned  round. 

“ Will  it  he  a proof  that  I am  the  man  you  seek,”  said 
he,  “ if  I send  you  to  prison  ? ” 

Lorenza  made  no  reply.  Only,  she  looked  around  her 
with  the  indescribable  dignity  peculiar  to  the  women  of 
Italy,  seeking  the  chair  which  Monsieur  de  Sartines  did 
not  offer  her.  He  was  vanquished  by  this  look,  for  Mon- 
sieur le  Comte  d’Alby  de  Sartines  was  a remarkably  well- 
bred  man.  “ Be  seated,”  said  he,  sharply. 

Lorenza  drew  a chair  forward  and  sat  down. 

“Speak  quickly,”  said  the  magistrate.  “Come!  let 
me  know  what  you  want.” 

“Monsieur,”  said  Lorenza,  “I  come  to  place  myself 
under  your  protection.” 

Monsieur  de  Sartines  looked  at  her  with  the  sarcastic 
look  peculiar  to  him. 

“ Ah,  ah  ! ” said  he. 

“ Monsieur,”  continued  Lorenza,  " I have  been  carried 
off  from  my  family,  and  have,  by  a false  marriage,  fallen 
into  the  power  of  a man  who  for  the  last  three  years  has 
oppressed  me  and  made  my  life  miserable.” 

Monsieur  de  Sartines  looked  with  admiration  upon  this 
noble  countenance,  and  felt  touched  and  charmed  by  this 
voice,  so  soft  that  its  utterance  seemed  like  a strain  of 
music. 

“ From  what  country  do  you  come  *1  ” he  asked. 

“ I am  a Roman.” 

“ What  is  your  name  1 ” 

“ Lorenza.” 

“ Lorenza  what  1 ” 

“ Lorenza  Feliciani.” 

“ I do  not  know  that  family.  Are  you  a demoiselle  ? ” 


THE  HOTEL  OF  MONSIEUR  DE  SARTINES.  227 


“ Demoiselle  ” at  this  period  meant  a lady  of  quality. 
In  our  days  a lady  thinks  herself  noble  enough  when 
she  is  married,  and  wishes  thenceforth  to  be  called  only 
“ madame.” 

“ I am  a demoiselle/’  replied  Lorenza. 

“ Well,  what  do  you  demand  ] ” 

“ I demand  justice  against  this  man  who  has  stolen  and 
incarcerated  me.” 

“ That  is  no  affair  of  mine/’  said  the  lieutenant  of 
police ; “ are  you  his  wife  ] ” 

“ He  says  so,  at  least.” 

“ What ! he  says  so  ] ” 

“ Yes ; but  I do  not  remember  anything  of  it,  as  the 
marriage  was  contracted  while  I slept.” 

“ Peste  / you  sleep  soundly.” 

“ What  do  you  say  ? ” 

“I  say  that  it  is  not  in  my  province.  Apply  to  an 
attorney  and  bring  an  action ; I do  not  like  to  meddle  in 
family  matters.”  Mousieur  de  Sartines  waved  his  hand 
with  a gesture  which  meant,  “ Begone ! ” Lorenza  did 
not  move. 

“Well1?”  asked  Monsieur  de  Sartines,  astonished. 

“I  have  not  done  yet,”  said  she;  “and  if  I come  to 
you,  you  must  understand  that  it  is  not  to  complain  of  a 
trifling  matter,  but  to  revenge  myself.  I have  told  you 
my  country ; the  women  of  my  country  revenge  them- 
selves, but  never  complain.” 

“ That  is  another  affair,”  said  Monsieur  de  Sartines ; 
“ but  speak  quickly,  fair  lady,  for  my  time  is  precious.” 

" I told  you  that  I came  to  you  to  ask  for  your  protec- 
tion. Shall  I have  it  1 ” 

“ Protection  against  whom  ? ” 

“ Against  the  man  upon  whom  I wish  to  revenge  myself.” 
“ He  is  powerful,  then  1 ” 


228 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ More  powerful  than  a king.” 

“ Come,  explain,  my  dear  Madame  ! Why  should  I 
protect  you  against  a man  who  is,  in  your  opinion,  more 
powerful  than  a king,  by  reason  of  an  act  which  is  per- 
haps a crime  1 If  you  wish  to  be  revenged  on  this  man, 
revenge  yourself.  That  is  nothing  to  me;  only,  if  you 
commit  a crime,  I shall  have  to  arrest  you.  After  which, 
we  shall  see  : that  is  the  routine.” 

“ No,  Monsieur,”  said  Lorenza ; “ no,  you  will  not  have 
me  arrested,  for  my  vengeance  is  of  the  greatest  utility  to 
you,  to  the  king,  and  to  France.  I shall  revenge  myself 
by  revealing  this  man’s  secrets.” 

“ Ah,  ah  ! he  has  secrets  1 ” said  Monsieur  de  Sartines, 
beginning  to  feel  interested  in  spite  of  himself. 

“ Important  secrets,  Monsieur.” 

“ Of  what  kind ! ” 

“ Political.” 

(t  Mention  them.” 

“ But,  in  short,  will  you  protect  me  ? ” 

“ What  sort  of  protection  do  you  require  1 ” said  the 
magistrate,  with  a cold  smile,  — “ gold,  or  affection  1 ” 

“ I only  ask  permission,  Monsieur,  to  retire  to  a con- 
vent, and  to  live  there  concealed  and  unknown.  I ask 
that  this  convent  may  become  my  tomb,  but  that  this 
tomb  may  never  be  violated  by  any  one  in  the  world.” 

“ Ah  ! ” said  the  magistrate,  “ that  is  not  a very  exacting 
demand.  You  shall  have  the  convent ; speak  ! ” 

“ Then  I have  your  word,  Monsieur  ? ” 

“ I think  I said  so.” 

“ Then,”  said  Lorenza,  “ take  this  coffer,  — it  contains 
mysteries  which  will  make  you  tremble  for  the  safety  of 
the  king  and  his  dominions.” 

“ Then  you  know  these  mysteries  ? ” 

“ Only  partially;  but  I know  they  exist.” 


THE  HOTEL  OF  MONSIEUR  DE  SARTINES.  229 


“ And  that  they  are  important  ! ” 

“ That  they  are  terrible.” 

66  Political  secrets,  you  say  ? ” 

“ Have  you  never  heard  that  there  existed  a secret 
society  1 ” 

“ Ah  ! the  freemasons  ? ” 

“The  invisibles.” 

“ Yes  ; but  I do  not  believe  it.” 

“ When  you  have  opened  this  coffer,  you  will  believe.” 
“ Ah ! ” said  Monsieur  de  Sartines,  eagerly,  “ let  me 
see ; ” and  he  took  the  coffer  from  Lorenza’s  hands.  But 
suddenly,  after  a moment’s  reflection,  he  placed  it  upon 
the  desk. 

“ No,”  said  he,  with  an  air  of  suspicion ; “ open  the 
coffer  yourself.” 

“ But  I have  not  the  key.” 

“ What ! you  have  not  the  key  1 You  bring  me  a coffer 
which  contains  the  safety  of  a kingdom,  and  you  forget 
the  key  1 ” 

“ Is  it  so  very  difficult,  then,  to  open  a lock ! ” 

“ No,  not  when  one  knows  it.”  Then,  after  a moment’s 
pause,  he  added  : “We  have  in  this  place  keys  for  all 
kinds  of  locks ; you  shall  have  a bunch  (and  he  looked 
fixedly  at  Lorenza),  and  you  shall  open  it  yourself.” 

“ Give  it  me,”  said  Lorenza,  simply. 

Monsieur  de  Sartines  held  out  a bunch  of  little  keys 
of  all  kinds  to  the  young  woman.  She  took  them ; he 
touched  her  hand ; it  was  cold  as  marble. 

“ But  why,”  said  he,  “ did  you  not  bring  the  key  of  the 
coffer  1 ” 

“ Because  the  master  of  the  coffer  never  lets  it  out  of 
his  possession.” 

“ And  who  is  the  master  of  the  coffer,  — this  man  who 
is  more  powerful  than  a king ! ” 


230 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Who  he  is,  no  one  can  say.  The  Almighty  alone 
knows  how  long  he  has  lived ; the  deeds  he  accomplishes 
none  see  but  God.” 

“ But  his  name,  — his  name  1 ” 

“ I have  known  him  change  it  ten  times.” 

“ Well,  that  by  which  you  generally  address  him!” 

“ Acharat.” 

“ And  he  lives  — 99 
“ Rue  Saint  — ” 

Suddenly  Lorenza  started,  shuddered,  and  let  the  coffer, 
which  she  held  in  the  one  hand,  and  the  keys,  which  she 
held  in  the  other,  fall  to  the  ground.  She  made  an  effort 
to  reply,  her  lips  were  distorted  convulsively,  she  raised 
her  hands  to  her  throat,  as  if  the  words  she  was  about  to 
utter  had  suffocated  her ; then,  tossing  her  trembling  arms 
aloft,  she  fell  her  whole  length  upon  the  carpet,  unable  to 
utter  a single  word. 

“ Poor  girl ! ” murmured  Monsieur  de  Sartines,  “ what 
the  deuce  is  the  matter  with  her?  She  is  really  very 
pretty.  Ah ! there  is  some  jealousy  at  work  in  this 
project  of  revenge.” 

He  rang  the  bell  hastily,  and  in  the  mean  time  raised  the 
young  woman  in  his  arms,  who,  with  staring  eyes  and 
motionless  lips,  seemed  already  dead  and  unrelated  to  the 
world.  Two  valets  entered. 

“ Carry  this  young  lady  carefully  into  the  adjoining 
apartment,”  said  he ; “ endeavor  to  revive  her,  but  above 
all,  use  no  violence.  Go.” 

The  valets  obeyed,  and  carried  Lorenza  out. 


THE  COFFER. 


231 


CHAPTER  XXIY. 

THE  COFFER. 

When  he  was  alone,  Monsieur  de  Sartines  turned  the  coffer 
round  and  round  with  the  air  of  a man  who  can  appreciate 
the  value  of  a discovery.  Then  he  stretched  out  his  hands 
and  picked  up  the  bundle  of  keys  which  had  fallen  from 
Lorenza’s  hands.  He  tried  them  all ; none  would  fit. 
He  took  several  similar  bunches  from  his  drawer.  These 
bunches  contained  keys  of  all  sizes,  — keys  of  all  sorts  of 
articles,  coffers  included ; common  keys  and  microscopic 
keys.  Monsieur  de  Sartines  might  be  said  to  possess  a 
pattern  of  every  key  known.  He  tried  twenty,  fifty,  a 
hundred  ; not  one  would  even  turn  round. 

The  magistrate  concluded,  therefore,  that  the  lock  was 
only  a semblance  of  a lock,  and  that  consequently  his  keys 
were  only  make-believe  keys.  He  then  took  a small 
chisel  and  a little  hammer  from  the  same  drawer,  and  with 
his  white  hand,  buried  in  an  ample  frill  of  Mechlin  lace, 
he  burst  open  the  lock,  the  faithful  guardian  of  the  coffer. 
A bundle  of  papers  appeared,  instead  of  the  destructive 
machine  he  had  feared  to  find  there,  or  poisons  which 
should  diffuse  a fatal  odor  around,  and  deprive  France  of 
its  most  useful  magistrate. 

The  first  words  which  met  the  magistrate’s  eye  were  the 
following,  written  in  a handwriting  which  was  evidently 
feigned  : “ Master,  it  is  time  to  abandon  the  name  of  Bal- 
samo.”  There  was  no  signature,  but  merely  the  three 
letters,  L.  P.  D.  “ Ha  ! ” said  he,  twitching  the  curls  of  his 


232 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


wig,  “ if  I do  not  know  the  writing,  I think  I know  the 
name.  Balsamo,  — let  me  see  ; I must  search  the  B’s.” 

Monsieur  de  Sartines  opened  one  of  his  twenty-four 
drawers,  and  took  from  it  a list,  arranged  in  alphabetical 
order,  written  in  a fine  handwriting  full  of  abbreviations, 
and  containing  three  or  four  hundred  names,  preceded,  fol- 
lowed, and  accompanied  by  flaming  notes.  “ Oh,  oh  ! ” 
he  murmured,  “ here  is  a long  article  on  this  Balsamo  ; ” 
and  he  read  the  whole  page  with  unequivocal  signs  of  dis- 
satisfaction. Then  he  replaced  the  list  in  the  drawer,  and 
continued  the  examination  of  the  coffer.  He  had  not 
proceeded  far  before  his  brow  assumed  a darker  hue,  and 
soon  he  came  to  a note  full  of  names  and  ciphers. 

This  paper  seemed  important ; it  was  much  worn  at  the 
edges,  and  filled  with  pencil-marks.  Monsieur  de  Sartines 
rang  the  bell ; a servant  appeared.  “ The  assistance  of  the 
chancery  clerk,”  said  the  minister,  — “ immediately.  Let 
him  come  through  the  reception-rooms  from  the  office,  to 
save  time.,, 

The  valet  retired.  Two  minutes  afterward  a clerk  with 
a pen  in  his  hand,  his  hat  under  one  arm,  a large  register 
under  the  other,  and  wearing  sleeves  of  black  serge  over 
his  coat-sleeves,  appeared  on  the  threshold  of  the  cabinet. 
Monsieur  de  Sartines  perceived  his  entrance  in  the  mirror 
before  him,  and  handed  him  the  paper  over  his  shoulder. 
“ Decipher  this,”  said  he. 

“ Yes,  Monseigneur,”  replied  the  clerk. 

This  decipherer  of  riddles  was  a little  thin  man,  with 
pinched  lips,  eyebrows  contracted  by  study,  pale  features, 
and  head  pointed  both  at  top  and  bottom,  a narrow  chin 
a receding  forehead,  projecting  cheek-bones,  hollow  and 
dull  eyes,  which  sometimes  sparkled  with  intelligence. 
Monsieur  de  Sartines  called  him  La  Fouine. 

“ Sit  down,”  said  the  magistrate  to  him,  on  seeing  him 


THE  COFFER. 


233 


rather  embarrassed,  by  his  note-book,  his  code  of  ciphers, 
his  paper,  and  his  pen. 

La  Fouine  modestly  took  his  seat  upon  the  corner  of  a 
stool,  drew  his  knees  together,  and  began  to  write  upon 
them,  turning  over  his  dictionary  and  searching  his  mem- 
ory, with  an  impassive  countenance.  In  five  minutes  he 
had  written  : — 

§ 

“ An  order  to  assemble  three  thousand  brothers  in  Paris. 

§ 

“ An  order  to  form  three  circles  and  six  lodges. 

§ 

“ An  order  to  form  a guard  for  the  Grand  Copt,  and  to  in- 
stitute four  dwellings  for  him,  one  in  a royal  household. 

§ 

“ An  order  to  place  five  hundred  thousand  francs  at  his 
disposal  for  a police. 

§ 

“ An  order  to  enrol  in  the  first  of  the  Parisian  circles  the 
flower  of  literature  and  philosophy. 

§ 

“ An  order  to  hire  or  to  gain  over  the  magistracy,  and  partic- 
ularly to  make  sure  of  the  lieutenant  of  police,  by  corruption, 
violence,  or  cunning.” 

Here  La  Fouine  stopped  for  a moment,  — not  that  the 
poor  man  was  reflecting,  he  took  care  not  to  do  that ; it 
would  have  been  a crime,  — but  because  his  page  was 
filled  and  the  ink  yet  wet,  so  that  he  was  obliged  to  wait 
for  its  drying  before  he  could  proceed. 

Monsieur  de  Sartines,  becoming  impatient,  snatched  the 
paper  from  his  hands  and  read  it. 

At  the  last  paragraph,  such  an  expression  of  fear  was 
painted  on  his  face  that  he  turned  a deeper  pale  at  seeing 


234 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


himself  change  color  in  the  mirror  of  his  secretary.  He 
did  not  return  the  paper  to  his  clerk,  but  handed  him 
a fresh  sheet.  The  clerk  began  again,  and  wrote  as  fast 
as  he  deciphered,  — which  he  did  with  a facility  ter- 
rifying for  all  writers  in  cipher.  This  time  Monsieur  de 
Sartines  read  over  his  shoulder  : — 

§ 

“ To  drop  the  name  of  Balsamo,  which  is  already  too  well 
known  in  Paris,  and  to  take  that  of  the  Comte  de  Fe  — ” 

A large  blot  of  ink  concealed  the  rest  of  the  word. 

While  Monsieur  de  Sartines  was  endeavoring  to  make 
out  the  last  syllable,  which  would  complete  the  name,  a 
bell  was  rung  outside,  and  a valet  entering,  announced  : 
“ The  Comte  de  Fenix.” 

Monsieur  de  Sartines  uttered  a cry ; and  at  the  risk  of 
demolishing  the  harmonious  edifice  of  his  wig,  he  clasped 
his  hands  above  his  head,  and  hastened  to  dismiss  his 
clerk  by  a secret  door.  Then,  resuming  his  place  before 
the  desk,  he  said  to  the  valet  : “ Introduce  him.” 

A few  seconds  afterward  Monsieur  de  Sartines  perceived 
in  his  glass  the  stern  profile  of  the  count,  whom  he  had 
already  seen  at  court  on  the  day  of  Madame  Dubarry’s 
presentation.  Balsamo  entered  without  hesitation. 

Monsieur  de  Sartines  rose,  bowed  coldly  to  the  count, 
and  crossing  one  leg  over  the  other,  he  seated  himself 
ceremoniously  in  his  armchair.  At  the  first  glance  the 
magistrate  had  divined  the  cause  and  the  aim  of  this  visit. 
At  the  first  glance  also  Balsamo  had  perceived  the  opened 
box,  half  emptied  upon  Monsieur  de  Sartines’  desk.  His 
look,  however  hasty,  at  the  coffer,  did  not  escape  the 
lieutenant  of  police. 

“ To  what  chance  do  I owe  the  honor  of  your  presence, 
Monsieur  le  Comte  ? ” asked  Monsieur  de  Sartines. 


THE  COFFER. 


235 


“ Monsieur,”  replied  Balsamo,  with  a most  affable  smile, 
“I  have  had  the  honor  of  being  presented  to  all  the  sov- 
ereigns, ministers,  and  ambassadors  of  Europe,  but  I have 
not  found  any  one  to  present  me  to  you ; I have  therefore 
come  to  introduce  myself.” 

“ In  truth,  Monsieur,”  replied  the  lieutenant  of  police, 
“ you  arrive  most  opportunely ; for  I am  quite  sure  that 
had  you  not  come  of  yourself,  I should  have  had  the 
honor  of  sending  for  you.” 

“ Ah,  indeed  ! ” said  Balsamo ; “ that  is  a coincidence  ! ” 
Monsieur  de  Sartines  inclined  his  head  with  a sarcastic 
smile. 

“ Shall  I be  so  fortunate  as  to  be  of  any  use  to  you  1 ” 
asked  Balsamo  ; and  these  words  were  uttered  without  a 
shadow  of  emotion  or  of  uneasiness  clouding  his  smiling 
features. 

“ You  have  travelled  much,  Monsieur  le  Comte?  ” asked 
the  lieutenant  of  police. 

“ A great  deal,  Monsieur.” 

“Ah!” 

“ You  wish  for  some  geographical  information,  perhaps  ? 
A man  of  your  capacity  does  not  confine  his  observations 
to  France  alone  ; he  surveys  Europe,  — the  world.” 

“‘Geographical,’  is  not  exactly  the  word,  Count. 
* Moral  ’ would  be  more  correct.” 

“ Have  no  scruples  I beg ; for  the  one,  as  for  the  other, 
I am  wholly  at  your  service.” 

“Well,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  picture  to  yourself  that  I 
am  in  search  of  a most  dangerous  man,  — a man  who,  on 
my  word,  is  a complete  atheist.” 

“ Oh!” 

“ A conspirator.” 

“ Oh  ! ” 

“A  forger.” 


236 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Oh!” 

“ A debauchee,  a false  coiner,  a quack,  a charlatan,  the 
chief  of  a society,  a man  whose  history  I have  in  my 
hooks,  in  this  box  that  you  see  here,  — everywhere, 
indeed.” 

“Ah!  yes,  I comprehend,”  said  Balsamo;  “ you  have 
the  history,  but  not  the  man.” 

“ No.” 

“ The  devil ! The  latter  is  the  more  important,  it 
seems  to  me.” 

u Of  course ; but  you  will  see  that  we  are  not  far  from 
having  him.  Certainly  Proteus  had  not  more  forms,  nor 
Jupiter  more  names,  than  this  mysterious  traveller. 
Acharat  in  Egypt,  Balsamo  in  Italy,  Somini  in  Sardinia, 
the  Marquis  d’Anna  in  Malta,  the  Marquis  Pellegrini  in 
Corsica,  and  lastly,  the  Comte  de  — ] ” 

“ Comte  de  — ? ” added  Balsamo. 

“ The  last  name,  Monsieur,  I have  not  been  able  to 
read.  But  I am  sure  you  will  assist  me,  will  you  not  ? 
For  there  is  no  doubt  you  must  have  met  this  man  during 
your  travels  in  each  of  the  countries  I have  just  now 
named.” 

“ Enlighten  me  a little,  I entreat,”  said  Balsamo,  quietly. 

“ Ah  ! I understand ; you  wish  for  a description  of  his 
person,  do  you  not,  Monsieur  le  Comte  1 ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur,  if  you  please.” 

“ Well ! ” said  Monsieur  de  Sartines,  fixing  a glance 
which  he  intended  to  be  inquisitorial  upon  Balsamo, 
“he  is  a man  of  your  age,  of  your  size,  of  your  figure. 
He  is  sometimes  a great  lord,  scattering  money  on  all 
sides ; sometimes  a charlatan,  searching  into  the  secrets 
of  Nature;  sometimes  a gloomy  member  of  some  mys- 
terious brotherhood  which  meets  by  night  and  swears 
death  to  kings,  and  the  destruction  of  thrones.” 


THE  COFFER. 


237 


“ Oh!  ” said  Balsamo,  “ that  is  very  vague.” 

“How,  vague?” 

“ If  you  knew  how  many  men  I have  seen  who  resem- 
ble this  description.” 

“ Really  ? ” 

“ Of  course ; and  you  must  be  a little  more  precise  if 
you  wish  me  to  assist  you.  In  the  first  place,  do  you 
know  in  which  country  he  prefers  to  live  ? ” 

“He  dwells  in  all.” 

“ But  at  present,  for  instance  ? ” 

“ At  present  he  is  in  France.” 

“ And  what  is  he  doing  in  France  ? ” 

“ He  is  directing  an  immense  conspiracy.” 

“Ah  ! that  is  indeed  some  clew;  and  if  you  know  what 
conspiracy  he  directs,  you  hold  the  thread  at  the  end  of 
which,  in  all  probability,  you  will  find  your  man.” 

“ I am  quite  of  your  opinion.” 

“ Well,  if  you  think  so,  why  do  you  ask  my  advice  ? It 
is  useless.” 

“ Ah  ! but  I am  not  yet  decided.” 

“ On  what  point  ? ” 

“ Whether  I shall  arrest  him  or  not.” 

“ I do  not  understand  the  not , Monsieur ; for  if  he 
conspires  — ” 

“Yes,  but  if  he  is  partially  defended  by  some  name  or 
by  some  title  ? ” 

“ Ah,  I understand  ! But  what  name  ? — what  title  ? 
You  must  tell  me  that  before  I can  assist  you  in  your 
search,  Monsieur.” 

“Why,  Monsieur,  I have  told  you  that  I know  the 
name  under  which  he  conceals  himself ; but  — ” 

“ But  do  you  not  know  the  one  under  which  he  shows 
himself,  — is  that  it  ? ” 

“ Yes,  otherwise  — ” 


238 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Otherwise  you  would  arrest  him  ? 99 
“ Instantly.” 

“ Well,  my  dear  Monsieur  de  Sartines,  it  is  very  fortu- 
nate, as  you  said  just  now,  that  I arrived  at  this  moment; 
for  I will  do  you  the  service  you  require.” 

“ You?” 

“Yes.” 

“You  will  tell  me  his  name ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ The  name  under  which  he  shows  himself?  ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then  you  know  him  ? ” 

“Very  well.” 

“ And  what  is  his  name  ? ” asked  Monsieur  de  Sartines, 
expecting  some  falsehood. 

“The  Comte  de  Fenix.” 

“ What ! the  name  by  which  you  were  announced  ? ” 

“ The  name  by  which  I was  announced,  — yes.” 

“ Your  name  ? ” 

“ My  name.” 

“Then  this  Acharat,  this  Somini,  this  Marquis  d’Anna, 
this  Marquis  Pellegrini,  this  Joseph  Balsamo,  is  you? 99 
“ Yes,”  said  Balsamo,  quietly,  “ is  myself.” 

It  was  a minute  before  Monsieur  de  Sartines  could  re- 
cover from  the  vertigo  which  this  frank  avowal  caused 
him. 

“ You  see,  I knew  it,”  said  he.  “ I recognized  you.  I 
knew  that  Joseph  Balsamo  and  the  Comte  de  Fenix  were 
the  same.” 

“Ah  ! ” said  Balsamo,  “ you  are  a great  minister,  — I 
confess  it ! ” 

“ And  you  are  most  imprudent,”  said  the  magistrate, 
advancing  toward  the  bell. 

“ Imprudent,  why  ? ” 


THE  COFFER. 


239 


“ Because  I am  going  to  have  you  arrested.” 

“ What  say  you  1 ” replied  Balsamo,  stepping  between 
the  magistrate  and  the  bell.  “ You  are  going  to  arrest 
me 

“ Pardieu ! what  can  you  do  to  prevent  me,  may  I 
ask]” 

“ You  ask  me  1 ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ My  dear  lieutenant  of  police,  I will  blow  your  brains 
out ; ” and  Balsamo  drew  from  his  pocket  a charming 
little  pistol  mounted  in  silver  gilt,  — which,  from  its 
appearance,  might  have  been  chased  by  Benvenuto  Cel- 
lini, — and  calmly  levelled  it  at  the  forehead  of  Monsieur 
de  Sartines,  who  turned  pale  and  sank  into  an  armchair. 

“ There,”  said  Balsamo,  drawing  another  chair  close  to 
that  occupied  by  the  lieutenant  of  police,  and  sitting 
down,  “ now  that  we  are  comfortably  seated,  we  can  chat 
a little.” 


240 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

CONVERSATION. 

Monsieur  de  Sartines  was  a moment  or  two  recovering 
from  his  rather  severe  alarm.  He  had  seen  the  threatening 
muzzle  of  the  pistol  presented  before  his  very  eye ; he  had 
even  felt  the  cold  metal  of  the  barrel  upon  his  forehead. 
At  last  he  recovered.  “ Monsieur,”  said  he,  “ you  have 
an  advantage  over  me.  Knowing  what  sort  of  a man  I 
had  to  deal  with,  I did  not  take  the  precautions  usually 
adopted  against  common  malefactors.” 

“ Oh,  Monsieur  ! ” replied  Balsamo,  “ now  you  are  get- 
ting angry,  and  use  injurious  expressions.  Do  you  not 
see  how  unjust  you  are  1 I come  to  do  you  a service.” 
Monsieur  de  Sartines  made  a movement. 

“ Yes,  Monsieur,  to  serve  you,”  resumed  Balsamo,  “and 
you  misunderstand  my  intentions;  you  speak  to  me  of 
conspirators  at  the  very  time  when  I come  to  denounce  a 
conspiracy  to  you.” 

But  Balsamo  talked  in  vain.  Monsieur  de  Sartines  did 
not  at  that  moment  pay  any  great  attention  to  the  words 
of  his  dangerous  visitor ; and  the  word  “ conspiracy,” 
which  on  other  occasions  would  have  been  sufficient  to 
make  him  bound  from  his  seat,  he  hardly  noticed. 

“ Since  you  know  so  well  who  I am,  Monsieur,  you  are 
aware  of  my  mission  in  France.  Sent  by  his  Majesty  the 
great  Frederick,  I am  more  or  less  secretly  the  ambassador 
of  his  Prussian  Majesty.  Now  by  ambassador  is  under- 
stood an  inquirer ; in  my  capacity  as  inquirer  I am  igno- 


CONVERSATION. 


241 


rant  of  nothing  that  happens ; and  a subject  upon  which  I 
am  particularly  well  informed  is  the  monopoly  of  grain.” 
However  unpretendingly  Balsamo  uttered  these  last 
words,  they  nevertheless  produced  more  effect  upon  the 
lieutenant  of  police  than  all  the  others,  for  they  made  him 
attentive.  He  slowly  raised  his  head. 

“ What  is  that  about  grain  1 ” said  he,  affecting  as  much 
assurance  as  Balsamo  himself  had  displayed  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  interview.  “ Be  good  enough,  in  your  turn, 
to  instruct  me,  Monsieur.” 

“ Willingly,  Monsieur, ” said  Balsamo.  “ This  is  the 
whole  matter  — ” 

“ I am  all  attention.” 

“ Oh,  you  do  not  need  to  tell  me  that ! Some  very 
clever  speculators  have  persuaded  his  Majesty  the  king  of 
France  that  he  ought  to  construct  granaries  for  his  people 
in  case  of  scarcity.  These  granaries,  therefore,  have  been 
constructed.  While  they  were  doing  it,  they  thought  it 
as  well  to  make  them  large.  Nothing  was  spared,  neither 
stone  nor  brick,  and  they  were  made  very  large.” 

“Well?” 

“ Well,  they  had  then  to  be  filled.  Empty  granaries 
were  useless,  therefore  they  were  filled.” 

“ Well ! Monsieur,”  said  Monsieur  de  Sartines,  not 
seeing  very  clearly  as  yet  what  Balsamo  was  driving  at. 

“ Well ! you  may  readily  conceive  that  to  fill  these  very 
large  granaries,  a great  quantity  of  grain  was  required.  Is 
that  not  evident  ] ” 

“ Yes.” 

“To  continue,  then.  A large  quantity  of  grain  with- 
drawn from  circulation  is  one  way  of  starving  the  people  ; 
for,  mark  this  : any  amount  taken  from  the  circulation  is 
equivalent  to  a failure  in  the  production.  A thousand 
sacks  of  corn  more  in  the  granary  are  a thousand  sacks  of 
VOL.  in.  — 16 


242 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


corn  less  in  the  market-place.  If  you  only  multiply  these 
thousand  sacks  by  ten,  the  corn  will  rise  considerably.” 
Monsieur  de  Sartines  was  seized  with  an  irritating 
cough.  Balsamo  paused,  and  waited  till  the  cough  was 
quieted. 

“ You  see,  then,”  he  continued,  as  soon  as  the  lieutenant 
of  police  would  permit  him,  “ you  see  that  the  speculator 
in  these  granaries  is  enriched  by  the  amount  of  the  rise  in 
value.  Is  that  clear  to  you  1 ” 

“ Perfectly  clear,  Monsieur,”  said  Monsieur  de  Sartines ; 
“ but,  as  far  as  I can  understand,  it  seems  that  you  have 
the  presumption  to  denounce  to  me  a conspiracy  or  a crime 
of  which  his  Majesty  is  the  author]  ” 

“ Exactly,”  said  Balsamo ; “ you  understand  me  very 
well.” 

“That  is  a bold  step,  Monsieur;  and  I confess  that  I 
am  rather  curious  to  see  how  his  Majesty  will  take  your 
accusation ; I fear  much  the  result  will  be  precisely  the 
same  that  I proposed  to  myself  on  looking  over  the  papers 
in  this  box  before  your  arrival.  Take  care,  Monsieur ; 
your  destination  in  either  case  will  be  the  Bastille.” 

“ Ah  ! now  you  do  not  understand  me  at  all.” 

“How  sol” 

“ Good  heavens ! how  incorrect  an  opinion  you  form  of 
me,  and  how  deeply  you  wrong  me,  Monsieur,  in  taking 
me  for  a fool ! What ! you  imagine  I intend  to  attack 
the  king,  — I,  an  ambassador,  an  inquirer  ] Why,  that 
would  be  the  work  of  a simpleton  ! Hear  me  to  the  end, 
I beg  of  you.” 

Monsieur  de  Sartines  bowed. 

“ The  persons  who  have  discovered  this  conspiracy  against 
the  French  people  (forgive  me  for  taking  up  your  valu- 
able time,  Monsieur,  but  you  will  see  directly  that  it  is  not 
lost),  — they  who  have  discovered  this  conspiracy  against 


CONVERSATION. 


243 


the  French  people  are  economists, — laborious  and  exact 
men,  who  by  their  careful  investigation  of  this  underhand 
game  have  discovered  that  the  king  does  not  play  alone. 
They  know  well  that  his  Majesty  keeps  an  exact  register 
of  the  rate  of  corn  in  the  different  markets  ; they  know 
that  his  Majesty  rubs  his  hands  with  glee  when  the  rise 
has  produced  him  eight  or  ten  thousand  crowns ; but  they 
know  also  that  beside  his  Majesty  there  stands  a man 
whose  position  facilitates  the  sales,  a man  who  naturally, 
thanks  to  certain  functions  ( he  is  a functionary,  you  must 
know),  superintends  the  purchases,  the  receipts,  the  stor- 
age, — a man,  in  short,  who  manages  for  the  king.  Now, 
these  economists  — these  microscopic  observers,  as  I call 
them  — will  not  attack  the  king,  for  of  course  they  are 
not  mad,  but  they  will  attack,  my  dear  Monsieur,  the 
man,  the  functionary,  the  agent,  who  thus  intrigues  for 
his  Majesty.” 

Monsieur  de  Sartines  endeavored  in  vain  to  restore  the 
equilibrium  of  his  wig. 

“ Now,”  continued  Balsamo,  “ I am  coming  to  the  point. 
Just  as  you,  who  have  a police,  knew  that  I was  the 
Comte  de  Fenix,  so  I know  that  you  are  Monsieur  de 
Sartines.” 

“Well,  what  then  1 ” said  the  embarrassed  magistrate. 
“ Yes,  I am  Monsieur  de  Sartines,  — a fine  discovery  ? ” 

“ Ah  ! but  cannot  you  understand  that  this  Monsieur 
de  Sartines  is  precisely  the  man  of  the  price  list,  of  the 
underhand  dealings,  of  the  stowing  away,  — he  who,  either 
with  or  without  the  king’s  cognizance,  traffics  with  the 
food  of  twenty-seven  millions  of  French  people,  whom  his 
office  requires  him  to  feed  on  the  best  possible  terms  1 
Now,  just  imagine  the  effect  of  such  a discovery.  You  are 
not  much  beloved  by  the  people  ; the  king  is  not  a very 
considerate  man  *.  as  soon  as  the  cries  of  the  famishing 


244 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


millions  demand  your  head,  the  king  — to  avert  all  sus- 
picion of  connivance  with  you,  if  there  is  connivance,  or  if 
there  is  no  connivance,  to  do  justice  — will  cause  you  to 
be  hanged  upon  a gibbet,  like  Enguerrand  de  Marigny. 
Do  you  recollect  Enguerrand  ? ” 

“ Imperfectly,”  said  Monsieur  de  Sartines,  turning  very 
pale  ; “ and  it  is  a proof  of  very  bad  taste,  I think,  Mom 
sieur,  to  talk  of  gibbets  to  a man  of  my  rank.” 

“ Oh  ! if  I alluded  to  it,”  replied  Balsamo,  “ it  was 
because  I think  I see  poor  Enguerrand  still  before  me.  I 
assure  you  he  was  a perfect  gentleman,  from  Normandy, 
of  a very  ancient  family  and  a noble  descent.  He  was 
chamberlain  of  France,  captain  of  the  Louvre,  comptroller 
of  finance  and  of  buildings  ; he  was  Count  of  Longueville, 
which  county  is  more  considerable  than  yours  of  Alby. 
Well,  Monsieur,  I saw  him  hanged  upon  the  gallows  of 
Montfaucon,  which  he  had  himself  constructed  ! Thank 
God,  it  was  not  a crime  to  have  said  to  him,  ‘ Enguerrand, 
my  dear  Enguerrand,  take  care  ! You  are  dipping  into  the 
finances  to  an  extent  that  Charles  of  Valois  will  never 
pardon/  He  would  not  listen  to  me,  Monsieur,  and  un- 
fortunately he  perished.  Alas ! if  you  knew  how  many 
prefects  of  police  I have  seen,  from  Pontius  Pilate  down 
to  Monsieur  Bertin  de  Belle-Isle,  Comte  de  Bourdeilles, 
Lord  of  Brantome,  your  predecessor,  who  first  introduced 
the  lantern,  and  prohibited  the  scales  ! ” 

Monsieur  de  Sartines  rose,  and  endeavored  in  vain  to 
conceal  the  agitation  which  preyed  upon  him.  “ Well,” 
said  he,  “ you  can  accuse  me  if  you  like.  Of  what  impor- 
tance is  the  testimony  of  a man  such  as  you,  who  has  no 
influence  or  connections  ? ” 

“ Take  care,  Monsieur,”  said  Balsamo ; “ frequently 

those  who  seem  to  have  no  connections  are  connected  far 
and  wide.  And  when  I shall  write  the  history  of  these 


CONVERSATION. 


245 


corn  speculations  to  my  correspondent  Frederick,  who,  you 
know,  is  a philosopher ; when  Frederick  shall  hasten  to 
communicate  the  affair,  with  his  comments  upon  it,  to 
Monsieur  Arouet  de  Voltaire  ; when  the  latter,  with  his 
pen,  whose  reputation,  at  least,  I hope  you  know,  shall 
have  metamorphosed  it  into  a little  comic  tale  in  the  style 
of  4 L’homme  aux  quarante  Ecus ; 9 when  Monsieur  d’Alem- 
bert, that  excellent  geometrician,  shall  have  calculated 
that  the  corn  withdrawn  from  the  public  consumption  by 
you  might  have  fed  a hundred  millions  of  men  for  two  or 
three  years ; when  Helvetius  shall  have  shown  that  the 
price  of  this  corn,  converted  into  crowns  of  six  francs  and 
piled  up,  would  touch  the  moon,  or,  into  bank-notes  placed 
side  by  side,  would  reach  to  St.  Petersburg ; when  this 
calculation  shall  have  inspired  Monsieur  de  la  Harpe  to 
write  a bad  drama,  Diderot  a family  conversation,  and 
Monsieur  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau,  of  Geneva,  who  has  a 
tolerably  sharp  bite  when  he  chooses,  a terrible  paraphrase 
of  this  conversation,  with  commentaries ; when  Monsieur 
Caron  de  Beaumarchais  — may  Heaven  preserve  you  from 
treading  on  his  toes  ! — shall  have  written  a memoir,  Mon- 
sieur Grimm  a little  letter,  Monsieur  d’Holbach  a thunder- 
ing attack,  Monsieur  de  Marmontel  an  amiable  moral  tale, 
in  which  he  will  kill  you  by  defending  you  badly ; when 
you  shall  be  spoken  of  in  the  Cafe  de  la  Regence,  the 
Palais  Royal,  at  Audinot’s,  among  the  king’s  dancers,  — 
maintained,  as  you  know,  by  Monsieur  Nicolet,  — ah  ! 
Comte  d’Alby,  you  will  be  in  a much  worse  case  than  was 
that  poor  Enguerrand  de  Marigny,  whom  you  would  not 
hear  me  mention,  when  he  stood  under  the  gallows : for 
he  asserted  his  innocence,  and  that  with  so  much  earnest- 
ness that,  on  my  word  of  honor,  I believed  him  when  he 
affirmed  it  to  me.” 

At  these  words  Monsieur  de  Sartines,  no  longer  paying 


246 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


any  heed  to  decorum,  took  off  his  wig  and  wiped  his  bald 
head,  which  was  bathed  in  perspiration.  “ Well,”  said  he, 
“ so  be  it ! But  all  that  will  not  prevent  me  in  the  least. 
Ruin  me  if  you  can ; you  have  your  proofs,  I have  mine. 
Keep  your  secret,  I shall  keep  the  coffer.” 

“ Oh  ! Monsieur,”  said  Balsamo,  “that  is  another  error 
into  which  I am  surprised  that  a man  of  your  talents 
should  fall ; this  coffer  — ” 

“ Well,  what  of  it  ? ” 

“You  will  not  keep.” 

“ Oh  ! ” exclaimed  Monsieur  de  Sartines,  with  a sarcas- 
tic smile,  “ true ; I had  forgotten  that  the  Comte  de  Fenix 
is  a gentleman  of  the  highway  who  rifles  travellers  with 
the  strong  hand.  I forgot  your  pistol,  because  you  have 
replaced  it  in  your  pocket.  Excuse  me,  my  lord 
ambassador.” 

“ But,  good  heavens  ! why  speak  of  pistols,  Monsieur 
de  Sartines?  You  surely  do  not  believe  that  I mean  to 
carry  off  the  coffer  by  main  force ; that  when  on  the  stairs 
I may  hear  your  bell  ring  and  your  voice  cry,  6 Stop  thief ! ’ 
Oh,  no ! When  I say  that  you  will  not  keep  this  coffer,  I 
mean  that  you  will  restore  it  to  me  willingly,  and  without 
constraint.” 

“ What,  I ? ” exclaimed  the  magistrate,  placing  his 
clenched  hand  upon  the  disputed  object  with  so  much 
weight  that  he  nearly  broke  it. 

“Yes,  you.” 

“ Oh  ! very  well,  Monsieur,  mock  away ; but  as  to  tab 
ing  this  coffer,  I tell  you  you  shall  have  it  only  with  my 
life.  And  have  I not  risked  my  life  a thousand  times  ? 
Do  I not  owe  it,  to  the  last  drop,  to  the  service  of  his 
Majesty?  Kill  me,  — you  can  do  so;  but  the  noise  will 
summon  my  avengers,  and  I shall  have  voice  enough  left 
to  convict  you  of  all  your  crimes.  Ah ! give  you  back 


CONVERSATION.  247 

this  coffer,”  added  he,  with  a bitter  smile,  — “ all  hell 
should  not  wrest  it  from  me  ! ” 

“ And  therefore  I shall  not  employ  the  intervention  of 
the  subterranean  powers.  I shall  be  satisfied  with  that 
of  the  person  who  is  just  now  knocking  at  the  gate  of  your 
court-yard.” 

And  in  fact,  just  at  that  moment,  three  blows,  struck 
with  an  air  of  command,  were  heard  outside. 

“ And  whose  carriage,”  continued  Balsamo,  “ is  just  now 
entering  the  court.” 

“ It  seems,  then,  that  it  is  some  friend  of  yours  who  is 
coming  to  honor  me  with  a visit  1 ” 

“ As  you  say,  — a friend  of  mine.” 

“ And  I shall  hand  this  coffer  to  that  friend  ” 

“ Yes,  my  dear  Monsieur  de  Sartines,  you  will  give  it  to 
that  friend.” 

The  lieutenant  of  police  had  not  finished  his  gesture  of 
lofty  disdain  when  a valet  opened  the  door  hastily, 
and  announced  that  Madame  Dubarry  wished  for  an 
interview. 

Monsieur  de  Sartines  started,  and  looked  in  stupefied 
amazement  at  Balsamo,  who  required  all  his  self-command 
to  avoid  laughing  in  the  face  of  the  honorable  magistrate. 
Close  behind  the  valet  appeared  a lady  who  seemed  to 
have  no  need  of  permission  to  enter.  It  was  the  beautiful 
countess,  whose  flowing  and  perfumed  skirts  gently  rustled 
as  they  brushed  through  the  doorway  of  the  cabinet. 

“ You,  Madame,  you ! ” exclaimed  Monsieur  de  Sar- 
tines, who  in  the  instinct  of  terror  had  seized  the  open 
coffer  in  both  hands,  and  clasped  it  to  his  breast. 

“ Good-day,  Sartines,”  said  the  countess,  with  her  gay 
smile ; then,  turning  to  Balsamo,  “ Good-day,  dear  Count,” 
she  added ; and  she  gave  her  hand  to  the  latter,  who 
familiarly  bent  over  the  white  fingers,  and  pressed  his  lips 


248 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


where  the  royal  lips  had  so  often  rested.  In  this  move- 
ment Balsam o managed  to  whisper  a few  words  aside  to 
the  countess,  which  Sartines  could  not  hear. 

“ Ah  ! ” exclaimed  the  countess,  “ there  is  my  coffer.” 

“ Your  coffer  ! ” stammered  Monsieur  de  Sartines. 

“ Of  course,  my  coffer.  Oh  ! you  have  opened  it ; you 
do  not  observe  much  ceremony  ! ” 

“ But,  Madame  — ” 

“ Oh,  it  is  delightful ! The  idea  occurred  to  me  at 
once  that  some  one  had  stolen  this  coffer ; and  then  I said 
to  myself,  4 1 must  go  to  Sartines ; he  will  find  it  for  me/ 
You  did  not  wait  till  I asked  you ; you  found  it  before- 
hand, — a thousand  thanks  ! ” 

“ And  as  you  see,”  said  Balsamo,  “ Monsieur  has  even 
opened  it.” 

“ Yes,  really,  — who  could  have  thought  it  1 Why,  it 
is  abominable.,  Sartines  ! ” 

“ Madame,  notwithstanding  all  the  respect  I have  for 
you,”  said  the  lieutenant  of  police,  “ I fear  that  you  are 
imposed  upon.” 

“ Imposed,  Monsieur  ! ” said  Balsamo.  “ Do  you  per- 
chance mean  that  word  for  me  ” 

“ I know  what  I know,”  replied  Monsieur  de  Sartines. 

“ And  I know  nothing,”  whispered  Madame  Dubarry  in 
a low  voice  to  Balsamo.  “ Come,  tell  me  what  is  the  mat- 
ter, my  dear  Count  ! You  have  claimed  the  fulfilment  of 
the  promise  I made  you,  to  grant  the  first  favor  you  should 
ask.  I keep  my  word  like  a woman  of  honor,  and  here  I 
am.  Tell  me  what  must  I do  for  you  ? ” 

“ Madame,”  replied  Balsamo,  aloud,  “ you  confided  the 
care  of  this  coffer  and  everything  it  contains  to  me,  a few 
days  ago.” 

“ Of  course,”  answered  Madame  Dubarry,  replying  by  a 
look  to  the  count’s  appealing  glance. 


CONVERSATION. 


249 


“ Of  course  ! ” exclaimed  Monsieur  de  Sartines  ; “ you 
say  ‘ of  course/  Madame  1 ” 

“ Yes ; Madame  pronounced  the  words  loud  enough  for 
you  to  hear  them,  I should  think.” 

“ A box  which  contains  perhaps  ten  conspiracies ! ” 

“ Ah  ! Monsieur  de  Sartines,  you  are  aware  that  that 
word  is  rather  an  unfortunate  one  for  you  ; do  not  repeat 
it.  Madame  asks  for  her  box  again  ; give  it  her,  — that 
is  all.” 

“ Do  you  ask  me  for  it,  Madame  ? ” said  Monsieur  de 
Sartines,  trembling  with  anger. 

“ Yes,  my  dear  magistrate.” 

“ But  learn,  at  least  — ” 

Balsamo  looked  at  the  countess. 

“ You  can  tell  me  nothing  I do  not  know,”  said  Madame 
Dubarry;  “give  me  the  coffer.  You  may  believe  I did 
not  come  for  nothing  ! ” 

“ But  in  the  name  of  the  living  God,  Madame  ! in  the 
name  of  his  Majesty’s  safety  - — ” 

Balsamo  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

“ The  coffer,  Monsieur ! ” said  the  countess,  abruptly ; 
“the  coffer,  — yes  or  no  1 Reflect  well  before  you  refuse. 99 

“ As  you  please,  Madame  ! ” said  Monsieur  de  Sartines, 
humbly ; and  he  handed  the  coffer,  in  which  Balsamo  had 
already  replaced  all  the  papers  scattered  over  the  desk,  to 
the  countess. 

Madame  Dubarrv  turned  toward  Balsamo  with  a charm- 
ing smile.  “Count,”  said  she,  “will  you  carry  this  coffer 
to  my  carriage  for  me,  and  give  me  your  hand  through  all 
these  antechambers,  in  which  are  so  many  ugly  faces  ri 
Thanks,  Sartines  ! ” 

And  Balsamo  was  already  advancing  toward  the  door 
with  his  protectress,  when  he  saw  Monsieur  de  Sartines 
moving  toward  the  bell.  “ Countess,”  said  Balsamo, 


250 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


stopping  his  enemy  with  a look,  “ be  good  enough  to  tell 
Monsieur  de  Sartines,  who  is  quite  enraged  with  me  for 
having  reclaimed  your  coffer,  — be  good  enough  to  tell 
him  how  much  grieved  you  would  be  if  any  misfortune 
were  to  happen  to  me  through  the  agency  of  the  lieute- 
nant of  police,  and  how  displeased  you  would  he  with 
him.” 

The  countess  smiled  on  Balsamo.  “ You  hear  what  the 
count  says,  my  dear  Sartines  1 Well,  it  is  the  simple 
truth  ! The  count  is  an  excellent  friend  of  mine,  and  I 
should  he  mortally  angry  with  you  if  you  offended  him  in 
any  way  whatsoever.  Adieu,  Sartines  ! ” and  placing  her 
hand  in  Balsamo’s,  who  carried  the  coffer,  Madame  Du- 
barry  left  the  cabinet  of  the  lieutenant  of  police. 

Monsieur  de  Sartines  saw  them  depart  without  display- 
ing that  fury  which  Balsamo  expected  him  to  manifest. 
“Go!”  said  the  conquered  magistrate;  “go,  you  have 
the  box,  but  I have  the  woman  ! ” and  to  compensate 
himself  for  his  disappointment,  he  rang  in  a way  to  break 
all  the  bells  in  the  house. 


SARTINES  THINKS  BALSAMO  A SORCERER.  251 


CHAPTER  XXYI. 

SARTINES  BEGINS  TO  THINK  BALSAMO  A SORCERER. 

At  the  violent  ringing  of  Monsieur  de  Sartines’  bell,  an 
usher  entered. 

“ Well,”  asked  the  magistrate,  “ that  woman  1 ” 

“ What  woman,  Monseigneur  1 ” 

“ The  woman  who  fainted  here  just  now,  and  whom  I 
confided  to  your  care.” 

“ Monseigneur,  she  is  quite  well,”  replied  the  usher. 
“Very  good  ; bring  her  to  me.” 

“ Where  shall  I find  her,  Monseigneur  % ” 

“ What  do  you  mean  ? In  that  room,  of  course.” 

“ But  she  is  no  longer  there,  Monseigneur.” 

“ Xot  there  ! Then  where  is  she  1 ” 

“ I do  not  know.” 

“ She  has  gone  1 ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Alone  1” 

“ Yes.” 

“ But  she  could  not  stand  ! ” 

“Monseigneur,  it  is  true  that  for  some  moments  she 
remained  in  a swoon ; but  five  minutes  after  the  Comte 
de  Fenix  entered  Monseigneur’s  cabinet,  she  awoke  from 
this  strange  fit,  which  neither  essences  nor  salts  affected 
in  the  least.  Then  she  opened  her  eyes,  rose,  and  breathed 
with  an  air  of  satisfaction.” 

“ Well,  what  then  ? ” 


252 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ She  proceeded  toward  the  door ; and  as  Monseigneur 
had  not  ordered  that  she  should  be  detained,  she  was 
allowed  to  depart.” 

“ Gone  ! ” cried  Monsieur  de  Sartines.  “ Ah,  wretch 
that  you  are ! I shall  send  you  all  to  rot  at  Bicetre  ! 
Quick,  quick  ! send  me  my  head-clerk  ! ” 

The  usher  retired  hastily  to  obey  the  order  he  had 
received. 

“ The  scoundrel  is  a sorcerer ! ” muttered  the  unfortu- 
nate magistrate.  “ I am  lieutenant  of  police  to  the  king, 
but  he  is  lieutenant  of  police  to  the  devil  ! ” 

The  reader  has  no  doubt  understood  what  Monsieur  de 
Sartines  could  not  explain  to  himself.  Immediately  after 
the  incident  of  the  pistol,  and  while  the  lieutenant  ot 
police  was  endeavoring  to  regain  his  equanimity,  Balsamo, 
profiting  by  the  momentary  respite,  had  turned  succes- 
sively to  the  four  cardinal  points,  quite  sure  of  finding 
Lorenza  in  the  direction  of  one  of  them,  and  had  ordered 
her  to  rise,  to  go  out,  and  to  return,  by  the  way  she  had 
come,  to  the  Rue  Saint  Claude.  The  moment  this  wish  had 
been  formed  in  Balsamo’s  mind,  a magnetic  current  was 
established  between  him  and  the  young  woman,  and  the 
latter,  obeying  the  order  she  had  received  by  intuition, 
rose  and  went  away  without  meeting  any  opposition. 

Monsieur  de  Sartines  that  same  evening  took  to  his  bed, 
and  caused  himself  to  be  bled,  — the  revulsion  had  been 
too  strong  for  him  to  bear  it  with  impunity ; and  the  doc- 
tor assured  him  that  a quarter  of  an  hour  more  would 
have  brought  on  an  attack  of  apoplexy. 

Meanwhile  Balsamo  had  accompanied  the  countess  to 
her  carriage,  and  had  attempted  to  take  his  leave  of  her ; 
but  she  was  not  a woman  to  let  him  go  thus  without 
knowing,  or  at  least  without  endeavoring  to  discover,  the 
solution  of  the  strange  event  which  had  taken  place  before 


SARTINES  THINKS  BALSAMO  A SORCERER.  253 


her.  She  begged  the  count  to  enter  her  carriage.  The 
count  obeyed,  and  a groom  led  Djerid  behind. 

“ You  see  now,  Count,”  said  she,  “ whether  I am  true 
or  not,  and  whether,  when  I have  called  any  one  my 
friend,  I have  spoken  with  the  lips  merely,  or  from  the 
heart.  I was  just  setting  out  for  Luciennes,  where  the 
king  had  said  he  would  pay  me  a visit  to-morrow  morn- 
ing; but  your  letter  arrived,  and  I left  everything  for 
you.  Many  would  have  been  frightened  at  the  words 
‘ conspiracies  ’ and  ‘ conspirators  ’ which  Monsieur  de  Sar- 
tines  threw  in  your  teeth ; but  I looked  at  your  counte- 
nance before  I acted,  and  did  as  you  wished  me.” 

“ Madame,”  replied  Balsamo,  “ you  have  amply  repaid 
the  slight  service  I was  able  to  render  you ; but  with  me 
nothing  is  lost, — you  will  find  that  I can  be  grateful. 
Do  not  imagine,  however,  that  I am  a criminal, — a con- 
spirator, as  Monsieur  de  Sartines  said.  That  worthy  mag- 
istrate had  received,  from  some  person  who  betrayed 
me,  this  coffer,  containing  some  chemical  and  hermetical 
secrets,  — which  I shall  share  with  you,  that  you  may 
preserve  your  wonderful,  your  splendid  beauty,  and  your 
dazzling  youth.  Now,  seeing  the  ciphers  of  my  formulas, 
this  excellent  Monsieur  de  Sartines  called  the  chancery 
clerk  to  assist  him,  who,  in  order  not  to  be  found  wanting, 
interpreted  them  after  his  own  fashion.  I think  I have 
already  told  you,  Madame,  that  the  profession  is  not  yet 
entirely  freed  from  the  dangers  which  were  attendant  on  it 
in  the  Middle  Ages.  Only  young  and  intelligent  minds 
like  yours  favor  it.  In  short,  Madame,  you  have  saved 
me  from  a great  embarrassment ; I thank  you  for  it,  and 
shall  prove  my  gratitude.” 

“ But  what  would  he  have  done  with  you  if  I had  not 
come  to  your  assistance  ? ” 

“ To  annoy  King  Frederick,  whom  his  Majesty  hates, 


254 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


he  would  have  imprisoned  me  in  Vincennes  or  the  Bastille. 
I should  have  escaped  from  it,  I know,  — thanks  to  my 
process  for  melting  stone  with  a breath,  — but  I should 
have  lost  my  coffer,  which  contains,  as  I have  had  the 
honor  of  telling  you,  many  curious  and  invaluable  for- 
mulas, wrested  by  a happy  venture  of  science  from  the 
eternal  shades.” 

“ Ah,  Count ! you  at  once  delight  and  reassure  me. 
Then  you  promise  me  a philtre  to  make  me  young 
again  ] ” 

“Yes.” 

“ And  when  will  you  give  it  me  h 99 
“ Oh  ! you  need  be  in  no  hurry.  You  may  ask  for  it 
twenty  years  hence,  beautiful  countess.  In  the  mean  time 
I think  you  do  not  wish  to  become  quite  a child  again.” 
“You  are,  in  truth,  a charming  man.  One  question 
more,  and  I will  let  you  go,  for  you  seem  in  haste.” 
“Speak,  Countess.” 

“You  said  that  some  one  had  betrayed  you.  Is  it  a 
man,  or  a woman  ] 99 
“ A woman.” 

“ Ah,  ah  ! Count,  — a love  affair  ? ” 

“ Alas  ! yes,  complicated  by  an  almost  frantic  jealousy, 
which  has  produced  the  pleasant  effect  you  have  seen.  It 
is  a woman  who,  not  daring  to  stab  me  with  a knife  be- 
cause she  knows  I cannot  be  killed,  wanted  to  imprison 
and  ruin  me.” 

“ What,  ruin  you  ? ” 

“ She  endeavored  to  do  so,  at  least.” 

“ Count,  I will  stop  here,”  said  the  countess,  laughing. 
“ Is  it  the  quicksilver  in  your  veins  that  gives  you  that 
immortality  which  makes  people  betray  you,  instead  of 
killing  you  ? Shall  I set  you  down  here,  or  drive  you  to 
your  own  house  ? ” 


SARTINES  THINKS  BALSAMO  A SORCERER.  255 


“ No,  Madame,  I cannot  allow  you  to  inconvenience 
yourself  on  my  account.  I have  my  horse  Djerid.” 

“ Ah  ! that  wonderful  animal  which,  it  is  said,  outstrips 
the  wind  1 ” 

“ He  seems  to  please  you,  Madame.” 

“ He  is  in  truth  a magnificent  steed.” 

“ Allow  me  to  offer  him  to  you,  on  the  condition  that 
you  alone  ride  him.” 

“ Oh  ! no,  thank  you  ; I do  not  ride  on  horseback,  — or, 
at  least,  I am  a very  timid  horsewoman.  I am  as  much 
obliged  to  you,  however,  as  if  I accepted  your  offer. 
Adieu ! my  dear  Count ; do  not  forget  my  philtre,  — in 
ten  years.” 

“ I said  twenty.” 

“ Count,  you  know  the  proverb,  — 1 a bird  in  the 
hand — ; ’ and  if  you  could  even  give  it  me  in  five 
years  - — There  is  no  knowing  what  may  happen.” 

“ Whenever  you  please,  Countess.  Are  you  not  aware 
that  I am  entirely  at  your  command  1 ” 

“ Only  one  word  more,  Count.” 

“ I listen,  Madame.” 

“ It  proves  that  I have  great  confidence  in  you  to  speak 
of  it.” 

Balsamo,  who  had  already  alighted  from  the  carriage, 
suppressed  his  impatience,  and  approached  the  countess. 

“ It  is  reported  everywhere,”  continued  Madame  Dubarry, 
“ that  the  king  is  rather  taken  with  that  little  Taverney.” 
“ Ah  ! Madame,”  said  Balsamo,  “ is  it  possible  1 ” 

“ A very  great  partiality,  it  is  said.  You  must  tell  me 
if  it  is  true.  Count,  do  not  deceive  me ; I beseech  you  to 
treat  me  as  a friend.  Tell  me  the  truth,  Count.” 

“ Madame,”  replied  Balsamo,  “ I will  do  more  ; I will 
promise  you  that  Mademoiselle  Andree  shall  never  be 
the  king’s  mistress.” 


256 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 

“ And  why  not  ? ” cried  Madame  Dubarry. 

“ Because  I do  not  wish  it,”  said  Balsamo. 

“ Oh  ! ” said  Madame  Dubarry,  incredulously. 

“ You  doubt.” 

“ Is  it  not  allowed  'l  ” 

“ Never  doubt  the  truths  of  science,  Madame.  You  have 
believed  me  when  I said  yes ; believe  me  when  I say  no.” 

“ But,  in  short,  have  you  the  means  — ? ” she  paused, 
smiling. 

“ Well?  ” 

“ Means  capable  of  destroying  the  king’s  will,  or  con- 
quering his  whims  ? ” 

Balsamo  smiled.  “ I create  sympathies,”  said  he. 

“ Yes,  I know  that.” 

“ You  believe  it,  even.” 

“ I believe  it.” 

"Well,  I can  create  aversions  also,  and  if  needful,  im- 
possibilities. Therefore,  Countess,  make  your  mind  easy  ; 
I am  on  guard.” 

Balsamo  uttered  all  these  fragments  of  sentences  with 
an  absence  of  mind  which  Madame  Dubarry  would  not 
have  taken  as  she  did  for  inspiration,  had  she  known  the 
feverish  anxiety  which  Balsamo  felt  to  be  with  Lorenza  as 
quickly  as  possible. 

“ Well,  Count,”  said  she,  “ assuredly  you  are  not  only 
my  prophet  of  happiness,  but  also  my  guardian  angel. 
Count,  mark  my  words ; defend  me,  and  I will  defend 
you.  Alliance,  alliance  ! ” 

“ Agreed,  Madame,”  replied  Balsamo,  kissing  the  coun- 
tess’s hand.  Then  closing  the  door  of  the  carriage,  which 
the  countess  had  stopped  upon  the  Champs  Elysees,  he 
mounted  his  horse,  who  neighed  joyously,  and  was  soon 
lost  to  view  in  the  shadows  of  night. 

" To  Luciennes  ! ” said  the  countess,  consoled. 


SARTINES  THINKS  BALSAMO  A SORCERER.  257 

Balsamo  whistled  softly,  and  gently  pressed  his  knees 
against  Djerid’s  side,  who  started  off  at  a gallop.  Five 
minutes  afterward  he  was  in  the  vestibule  of  the  Rue 
Saint  Claude  looking  at  Fritz.  “Well'?”  asked  he, 
anxiously. 

“ Yes,  Master,”  replied  the  domestic,  who  waa  accus- 
tomed to  read  his  looks. 

" She  has  returned  *?  ” 

“ She  is  upstairs.” 

“ In  which  room  h ” 

“In  the  chamber  of  furs.” 

“ In  what  state  is  she  V9 

“Oh  ! very  much  exhausted.  She  ran  so  quickly  that 
although  I saw  her  coming,  for  I was  watching  for  her,  I 
had  scarcely  time  to  hasten  to  meet  her.” 

“ Indeed ! ” 

“ Oh  ! I was  quite  alarmed.  She  swept  on  like  a tem- 
pest ; rushed  upstairs  without  taking  breath ; and  when 
she  entered  the  room,  she  fell  upon  the  large  black  lion’s 
skin.  You  will  find  her  there.” 

Balsamo  hastily  ascended,  and  found  Lorenza  where 
Fritz  had  said.  She  was  struggling  in  vain  against  the 
first  convulsions  of  a nervous  crisis.  The  fluid  had 
weighed  upon  her  too  long  already,  and  forced  her  to 
violent  efforts.  She  suffered,  she  moaned  ; it  seemed  as  if 
a mountain  weighed  upon  her  breast,  and  that  she  endeav- 
ored with  both  hands  to  remove  it. 

Balsamo  looked  at  her  with  eyes  angrily  flashing ; and 
taking  her  in  his  arms,  he  carried  her  into  her  apartment, 
the  mysterious  door  of  which  closed  behind  him. 


vol.  in.  — 17 


258 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  ELIXIR  OF  LIFE. 

Balsamo  had  just  entered  Lorenza’s  apartment,  and  was 
preparing  to  awake  her  and  overwhelm  her  with  all  the 
reproaches  which  his  gloomy  anger  prompted,  fully  deter- 
mined to  punish  her  according  to  the  dictates  of  that  anger, 
when  a triple  knock  upon  the  ceiling  announced  that 
Althotas  had  watched  for  his  return,  and  wished  to  speak 
to  him. 

Nevertheless  Balsamo  waited  ; he  was  hoping  either 
that  he  had  been  mistaken,  or  that  the  signal  had  been 
accidental,  when  the  impatient  old  man  repeated  his 
blows.  Balsamo,  therefore,  — fearing,  no  doubt,  to  see 
him  descend,  as  he  had  done  before,  or  that  Lorenza, 
awakened  by  an  influence  opposed  to  his  own,  might  ac- 
quire the  knowledge  of  some  new  matter  no  less  danger- 
ous for  him  than  that  of  his  political  secrets,  — Balsamo, 
therefore,  after  having,  if  we  may  so  express  it,  charged 
Lorenza  with  an  additional  quantity  of  the  electric  fluid, 
left  the  room  to  visit  Althotas. 

It  was  high  time ; the  trap-door  was  already  half-way 
from  the  ceiling.  Althotas  had  left  his  wheeled  armchair, 
and  was  seen  squatting  down  upon  the  movable  part  of 
the  ceiling,  which  rose  and  fell.  He  saw  Balsamo  leave 
Lorenza’s  room. 

Squatting  thus,  the  old  man  was  at  once  hideous  and 
terrible  to  behold.  His  white  face,  or  rather  some  parts  of 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LIFE. 


259 


that  face,  which  still  seemed  to  he  alive,  were  purple  with 
the  violence  of  his  rage.  His  meagre  and  bony  hands, 
like  those  of  a human  skeleton,  trembled  and  shook ; his 
hollow  eyes  seemed  to  vacillate  in  their  deep  caverns ; and 
in  a language  unknown  even  to  his  disciple,  he  was  load- 
ing him  with  the  most  violent  invectives. 

Having  left  his  armchair  to  touch  the  spring,  Althotas 
seemed  to  live  and  move  only  by  the  aid  of  his  long  arms, 
lean  and  angular  as  those  of  a spider ; and  issuing,  as  we 
have  said,  from  his  chamber,  inaccessible  to  all  but  Bal- 
samo,  he  was  about  to  descend  to  the  lower  apartment. 
In  order  that  this  feeble  old  man,  indolent  as  he  was, 
should  leave  his  armchair,  that  cleverly  constructed  ma- 
chine which  spared  him  all  fatigue,  and  consent  to  perform 
one  of  the  actions  of  common  life,  — in  order  that  he 
should  undergo  the  care  and  fatigue  of  such  a change  in 
his  usual  habits,  it  was  necessary  that  some  extraordinary 
excitement  should  have  withdrawn  him  from  his  medita- 
tive life,  and  compelled  him  to  enter  again  reality. 

Balsamo,  taken  as  it  were  in  the  fact,  seemed  at  first 
astonished,  then  uneasy. 

“ Ah  ! ” exclaimed  Althotas,  “ there  you  are,  you  good- 
for-nothing,  you  ingrate  ! There  you  are,  coward,  who 
desert  your  master  ! ” 

Balsamo  called  all  his  patience  to  his  aid,  as  he  invaria- 
bly did  when  he  spoke  to  the  old  man.  “ But,”  he  re- 
plied, quietly,  “ I think,  my  friend,  you  have  only  just 
called  me.” 

“ Your  friend  ] ” exclaimed  Althotas ; “ your  friend  ] 
you  vile  human  creature  ! You  dare  to  speak  the  lan- 
guage of  equality  to  me  ! I have  been  a friend  to  you,  — 
more  than  a friend,  a father,  — a father  who  has  educated, 
instructed,  and  enriched  you.  But  you  my  friend  1 Oh, 
no  ! for  you  abandon  me ; you  assassinate  me  ! ” 


260 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Come,  Master,  you  disturb  your  bile ; you  irritate 
your  blood  ; you  will  make  yourself  ill.” 

“Ill]  Nonsense!  Have  I ever  been  ill,  except  when 
you  made  me  a sharer,  in  spite  of  myself,  in  some  of  the 
miseries  of  your  impure  human-kind  ] 111 ! Have  you  for- 

gotten that  it  is  I who  heal  others  ] ” 

“Well,  Master,”  replied  Balsamo,  coldly,  “I  am  hera 
Let  us  not  lose  time  in  vain.” 

“ Yes,  I advise  you  to  remind  me  of  that.  Time,  time  ! 
which  you  oblige  me  to  economize,  — me,  for  whom  this 
element,  circumscribed  to  all  the  world,  should  be  endless, 
unlimited ! Yes,  my  time  flies  ; yes,  my  time  is  lost,  — 
my  time,  like  the  time  of  other  people,  falls  minute  by 
minute  into  the  gulf  of  eternity,  when  for  me  it  ought  to 
be  eternity  itself  ! ” 

“ Come,  Master,”  said  Balsamo,  with  unalterable  pa- 
tience, lowering  the  trap  to  the  ground  as  he  spoke,  placing 
himself  upon  it,  and  causing  it  to  rise  again  to  its  place 
in  the  room  ; “ come,  what  is  it  you  want  ] You  say 
I starve  you ; but  are  you  not  in  your  forty  days  of 
fasting  ] ” 

“ Yes,  yes,  doubtless ; the  work  of  regeneration  began 
thirty-two  days  ago.” 

“ Then  tell  me,  of  what  do  you  complain  ] I see  two 
or  three  bottles  of  rain-water,  the  only  kind  you  drink, 
still  remaining.” 

“ Of  course  ; but  do  you  imagine  I am  a silkworm  to 
complete  the  grand  work  of  renovation  of  youth  and  of 
transformation  alone  ] Do  you  imagine  that,  powerless  as 
I am,  I can  compose  alone  the  elixir  of  life  ] Or  think 
you  that,  sitting  here  in  my  chair,  enervated  by  cooling 
drinks,  my  sole  nourishment,  I could  have  power  of  mind 
enough,  when  left  to  my  own  resources,  without  your 
assistance,  to  complete  the  minute  work  of  my  regeneration, 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LIFE. 


261 


in  which,  as  you,  unhappy  man,  well  know,  I must  be 
aided  and  supported  by  a friend  % ” 

“I  am  here,  Master,  I am  here.  Answer  me  now,” 
said  Balsamo,  replacing  the  old  man  in  his  chair  almost  in 
spite  of  himself,  as  he  would  have  handled  a hideous  in- 
fant ; “ answer  me,  — you  have  not  been  in  want  of  dis- 
tilled water,  for,  as  I said  before,  there  are  three  bottles 
still  remaining.  This  water,  as  you  know,  was  all  col- 
lected in  the  month  of  May  ; there  are  your  biscuits  of 
barley  and  of  sesame,  and  I myself  administered  to  you 
the  white  drops  you  prescribed.” 

“ Yes,  but  the  elixir  ! The  elixir  is  not  made  ! You 
do  not  remember  it,  for  you  were  not  there  ; it  was  your 
father,  — your  father,  who  was  far  more  faithful  than  you 
are ; but  at  the  last  fiftieth  I had  the  elixir  ready  a month 
beforehand.  I had  my  retreat  on  Mount  Ararat.  A Jew 
provided  me  with  a Christian  child  still  at  its  mother’s 
breast,  for  its  weight  in  gold.  I bled  it  according  to  the 
rule ; I took  the  last  three  drops  of  its  arterial  blood,  and 
in  an  hour  my  elixir,  which  wanted  only  this  ingredient, 
was  composed.  Therefore  my  first  regeneration  succeeded 
wonderfully  well.  My  hair  and  teeth  fell  out  during  the 
convulsions  which  succeeded  the  absorption  of  that  won- 
drous elixir,  but  they  grew  again,  — the  latter  badly 
enough,  I know,  because  I neglected  the  precaution  of 
letting  the  elixir  flow  into  my  throat  through  a golden 
conduit.  But  my  hair  and  my  nails  grew  again  in  this 
second  youth,  and  I began  again  to  live  as  if  I were  only 
fifteen  years  of  age.  Now  I am  old  again ; I am  border- 
ing on  the  extreme  limit ; and  if  the  elixir  is  not  ready,  if 
it  is  not  safely  enclosed  in  this  bottle,  if  I do  not  bestow 
all  possible  care  upon  this  work,  the  science  of  a century 
will  be  annihilated  with  me,  and  the  admirable,  the  sub- 
lime secret  I possess  will  be  lost  for  man,  who  in  me  and 


262 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


through  me  approaches  divineness  ! Oh  ! if  I fail,  if  I 
am  mistaken,  if  I miss  it,  Acharat,  it  will  he  your  fault ; 
and  take  care,  for  my  anger  will  be  terrible,  — terrible  ! ** 
and  as  he  uttered  these  last  words,  a livid  glare  shot  from 
his  dying  eyeball,  and  the  old  man  fell  into  a brief  convul- 
sion, which  ended  in  a violent  fit  of  coughing. 

Balsamo  instantly  lavished  the  most  eager  attentions  on 
him,  and  the  old  man  recovered.  His  complexion  had 
become  death-like  instead  of  pale.  This  feeble  attack  had 
weakened  his  strength  so  much  that  one  would  have 
thought  he  was  dying. 

“ Come,  Master,”  said  Balsamo,  u tell  me  plainly  what 
you  want/* 

“ What  I want ! **  said  he,  looking  fixedly  at  Balsamo. 

(i  Yes.” 

“ What  I want  is  this  — 99 

“ Speak  ; I hear  you,  and  I will  obey,  if  what  you  ask 
is  possible/* 

“ Possible,  possible ! ’*  muttered  the  old  man,  con- 
temptuously. “ You  know  that  everything  is  possible/* 

“ Yes,  with  time  and  science.** 

“ Science  I have,  and  I am  on  the  point  of  conquering 
time.  My  dose  has  succeeded.  My  strength  has  almost 
entirely  left  me.  The  white  drops  have  caused  the  expul- 
sion of  all  the  remaining  portion  of  my  former  nature. 
Youth,  like  the  sap  of  the  trees  in  May,  rises  under  the 
old  bark,  and  buds,  so  to  speak,  through  the  old  wood. 
You  may  remark,  Acharat,  that  the  symptoms  are  excel- 
lent, — my  voice  is  weak,  my  sight  is  three-quarters  gone ; 
sometimes  I feel  my  mind  wander ; I have  become  insen- 
sible to  the  transition  from  heat  to  cold.  I must  therefore 
hasten  to  finish  my  elixir,  in  order  that,  bn  the  completion 
of  my  second  fifty  years,  I may  at  once  pass  from  a hun- 
dred years  old  to  twenty.  The  ingredients  for  the  elixir 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LIFE. 


263 


are  all  made,  the  conduit  is  ready  ; I want  nothing  hut  the 
three  drops  of  blood  I told  you  of.” 

Balsamo  made  a gesture  of  repugnance. 

“ Very  well,”  said  Althotas,  “ let  us  abandon  the  child, 
since  it  is  so  difficult,  and  since  you  prefer  to  shut  your- 
self up  the  whole  day  with  your  mistress,  to  seeking  it 
for  me.” 

“You  know,  Master,  that  Lorenza  is  not  my  mistress,” 
replied  Balsamo. 

“ Oh  ! oh  ! oh  ! ” exclaimed  Althotas  ; “ you  say  that ! 
You  think  to  impose  on  me  as  on  the  mass ; you  would 
make  me  believe  in  an  immaculate  creature,  — and  yet  you 
are  a man  ! ” 

“ I swear  to  you,  Master,  that  Lorenza  is  as  pure  as  an 
angel ; I swear  to  you  that  love,  earthly  felicity,  domestic 
happiness,  — I have  sacrificed  all  to  my  project.  For  I 
also  have  my  regenerating  work  ; only,  instead  of  applying 
it  to  myself  alone,  I shall  apply  it  to  all  the  world.” 

“ Fool ! poor  fool ! ” cried  Althotas  ; “ I verily  believe 
he  is  going  to  speak  to  me  of  his  cataclysm  of  fleshworms, 
his  revolutions  of  ant-hills,  when  I speak  to  him  of  life  and 
eternal  youth  ! ” 

“ Which  can  be  acquired  only  at  the  price  of  a fearful 
crime  ; and  besides  — ” 

“ You  doubt ; I see  you  doubt,  unhappy  man  ! ” 

“ No,  Master ; but  since  you  give  up  the  idea  of  pro- 
curing a child,  tell  me  what  do  you  want  'l  ” 

“ I must  have  the  first  virginal  creature  you  can  find,  — 
man  or  woman  ; but  a woman  would  be  better,  by  reason 
of  the  affinity  of  the  sexes,  as  I have  discovered.  Find 
me  that,  and  quickly,  for  I have  only  eight  days 
longer.” 

“ Very  well,  Master,  I will  see,  — I will  search.” 

Another  lightning  flash,  more  terrible  than  the  first, 


2G4 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


sparkled  in  the  old  man’s  eyes.  “You  will  see!  you  will 
search  ! ” he  cried.  “ Oh  ! is  that  your  reply  ? I ex- 
pected it,  and  I don’t  know  why  I am  surprised.  And 
since  when,  thou  worm  of  the  earth,  was  the  creature  enti- 
tled to  speak  thus  to  its  master?  Ah  ! you  see  me  power- 
less, disabled,  supplicating,  and  you  are  fool  enough  to 
think  me  at  your  mercy  ! Yes  or  no,  Acharat  ? And 
answer  me  without  embarrassment  or  falsehood,  for  I can 
see  and  read  your  heart ; for  I can  judge  you,  and  shall 
punish  you.” 

“Master,”  replied  Balsamo,  “take  care;  your  anger 
will  do  you  an  injury.” 

“ Answer  me  ! answer  ! ” 

“ I can  say  to  my  master  only  what  is  true  ; I will  see 
if  I can  procure  what  you  desire,  without  injuring  our- 
selves. I will  endeavor  to  find  a man  who  will  sell  you 
what  you  want ; but  I will  not  take  the  crime  upon 
myself.  That  is  all  I can  say.” 

“ That  is  very  delicate,”  said  Althotas,  with  a bitter 
smile. 

“ It  is  so,  Master,”  said  Balsamo. 

Althotas  made  so  violent  an  effort  that  with  the  help  of 
his  two  arms  resting  on  the  arms  of  the  chair,  he  raised 
himself  to  his  feet.  “Yes,  or  no  ? ” said  he. 

“ Master,  yes,  if  I find  it ; no,  if  I do  not.” 

“ Then  you  will  expose  me  to  death,  wretch ! you  will 
save  three  drops  of  the  blood  of  an  insignificant,  worthless 
creature  such  as  I require,  and  let  a perfect  creature  such 
as  I am  fall  into  the  eternal  gulf ! Listen,  Acharat ! ” said 
the  old  man,  with  a smile  fearful  to  behold,  “ I no  longer 
ask  you  for  anything ; I ask  absolutely  nothing ; I will 
wait.  But  if  you  do  not  obey,  I will  serve  myself ; if  you 
desert  me,  I will  help  myself!  You  have  heard  me,  have 
you  not  ? Now  go  ! ” 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LIFE. 


265 


Balsamo,  without  replying  to  this  threat,  prepared  every- 
thing the  old  man  might  want.  He  placed  the  drinks  and 
the  food  within  his  reach,  and  performed  all  the  services  a 
watchful  servant  would  perform  for  his  master,  a devoted 
son  for  his  father ; then,  absorbed  by  a thought  very  dif- 
ferent from  that  which  tormented  Althotas,  he  lowered 
the  trap  to  descend,  without  remarking  that  the  old  man 
followed  him  with  a sardonic  and  ominous  grin. 

Althotas  was  still  grinning  like  an  evil  genius  when 
Balsamo  stood  before  the  still  sleeping  Lorenza. 


266 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE  STRUGGLE. 

Balsamo  stood  before  Lorenza,  his  heart  swelling  with 
sad  emotion ; his  wrath  had  given  place  to  sorrow.  His 
interview  with  Althotas  had  led  him  to  reflect  on  the 
vanity  of  all  human  affairs,  and  had  driven  anger  from 
his  heart.  He  remembered  the  practice  of  the  Greek  phi- 
losopher who  repeated  the  entire  alphabet  before  listen- 
ing to  the  voice  of  that  black  divinity,  the  counsellor  of 
Achilles.  After  a moment  of  mute  and  cold  contempla- 
tion before  the  couch  on  which  Lorenza  was  lying,  “lam 
sad,”  said  he  to  himself,  “ but  resolved,  and  I can  look 
my  situation  fair  in  the  face.  Lorenza  hates  me  ; Lorenza 
has  threatened  to  betray  me,  and  has  betrayed  me.  My 
secret  is  no  longer  my  own ; I have  given  it  into  this 
woman’s  power,  and  she  casts  it  to  the  winds.  I am  like 
the  fox  who  has  withdrawn  from  the  steel  trap  only  the 
bone  of  his  leg,  but  who  has  left  behind  his  flesh  and  his 
skin,  so  that  the  huntsman  can  say  on  the  morrow,  4 The 
fox  has  been  taken  here ; I shall  know  him  again,  living 
or  dead.’ 

“ And  this  dreadful  misfortune,  which  Althotas  cannot 
comprehend,  and  which  therefore  I have  not  even  men- 
tioned to  him,  — this  misfortune,  which  destroys  all  my 
hopes  in  this  country,  and  consequently  in  this  world,  of 
which  France  is  the  soul,  I owe  to  the  creature  sleeping 
before  me,  to  this  beautiful  statue  with  her  entrancing 


THE  STRUGGLE. 


267 


smile.  To  this  tempting  angel  I owe  dishonor  and  ruin, 
and  shall  owe  to  her,  captivity,  exile,  and  death. 

“ Therefore,”  continued  he,  becoming  more  animated, 
“ the  sum  of  evil  has  exceeded  that  of  good,  and  Lorenza 
is  dangerous  to  me.  Oh,  serpent ! with  thy  graceful  folds, 
which  nevertheless  strangle,  with  thy  golden  throat,  which 
is  nevertheless  full  of  venom,  sleep  on;  for  when  thou 
awakest  I shall  be  obliged  to  kill  thee  ! ” 

And  with  a gloomy  smile  Balsamo  slowly  approached 
the  young  woman,  whose  languid  eyes  were  turned  toward 
him  as  he  approached,  as  the  sunflower  and  volubilis  open 
to  the  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun. 

“Oh!” -said  Balsamo,  “and  yet  I must  forever  close 
those  eyes  which  now  beam  so  tenderly  on  me,  — those 
beautiful  eyes  which  are  filled  with  lightning  as  soon  as 
they  cease  to  glow  with  love.” 

Lorenza  smiled  sweetly,  and,  smiling,  she  displayed  the 
double  row  of  her  pearly  teeth. 

“ But  if  I kill  her  who  hates  me,”  said  Balsamo,  wring- 
ing his  hands,  “ I shall  also  kill  her  who  loves  me ; ” and 
his  heart  was  filled  with  the  deepest  grief,  strangely  min- 
gled with  a vague  desire.  “ No,  no  ! ” he  murmured.  " I 
have  sworn  in  vain ; I have  threatened  in  vain,  — no,  I 
shall  never  have  the  courage  to  kill  her ! She  shall  live, 
but  she  shall  live  without  ever  being  awakened  again  ! 
She  shall  live  this  factitious  life,  which  is  happiness  for 
her,  while  the  other  is  despair.  Would  that  I could  make 
her  happy  ! What  matters  to  me  the  rest  'l  She  shall 
have  but  one  existence,  that  which  I create,  that  in  which 
she  loves  me,  that  in  which  she  lives  at  this  moment ; ” 
and  he  returned  Lorenza’s  tender  look  by  a look  as  tender 
as  her  own,  placing  his  hand  as  he  did  so  gently  on  her  head. 

Lorenza,  who  seemed  to  read  Balsamo’s  thoughts  as  if 
they  were  an  open  book,  gave  a long  sigh,  rose  gradually 


268 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


with  the  graceful  languor  of  sleep,  and  placed  her  two 
white  arms  upon  Balsamo’s  shoulders,  who  felt  her  per- 
fumed breath  upon  his  cheek. 

“ Oh,  no,  no  ! ” exclaimed  Balsamo,  passing  his  hand 
over  his  burning  forehead  and  his  dazzled  eyes ; “ no,  this 
intoxicating  life  will  make  me  mad,  and  with  this  siren, 
glory,  power,  immortality,  will  all  vanish  from  my 
thoughts.  No,  no,  she  must  awake  ! I wish  it ; it  is 
necessary.* 1 , 

Distracted,  beside  himself,  Balsamo  suddenly  shook  off 
Lorenza,  who  loosened  her  hold  upon  him,  and,  like  a 
floating  veil,  like  a shadow,  like  a flake  of  snow,  she  fell 
on  the  sofa.  The  most  finished  coquette  would  not  have 
chosen  an  attitude  more  seductive  in  which  to  present 
herself  to  her  lover’s  view.  Balsamo  still  had  the  strength 
to  take  a few  steps  in  retreat ; but,  like  Orpheus,  he  looked 
back,  — like  Orpheus,  he  was  lost.  “ Oh,  if  I awake  her,” 
he  thought,  “ the  struggle  will  begin  again  ! If  I awake 
her,  she  will  kill  herself,  or  she  will  kill  me,  or  force  me 
to  destroy  her.  Oh,  what  an  abyss  ! Yes,  this  woman’s 
destiny  is  written ; it  stands  before  me  in  letters  of  fire,  — 
love,  death  ! Lorenza,  Lorenza  ! thou  art  doomed  to  love 
and  to  die  ! Lorenza,  Lorenza ! I hold  thy  life  and  thy 
love  in  my  hands  ! 99 

Instead  of  a reply,  the  enchantress  rose,  advanced  to- 
ward Balsamo,  fell  at  his  feet,  and  gazed  into  his  eyes  with 
a tender  smile.  Then  she  took  one  of  his  hands  and 
placed  it  on  her  heart.  “Death!”  said  she,  in  a low 
voice,  with  lips  moist  and  brilliant  as  coral  when  it  issues 
from  the  caverns  of  the  deep ; “ death,  but  love  ! 99 

Balsamo  took  two  steps  backward,  his  head  thrown 
back,  his  hand  over  his  eyes.  Lorenza,  breathless,  fol- 
lowed him  on  her  knees.  “ Death  ! ” she  repeated,  with 
her  intoxicating  voice,  “ but  love,  love,  love ! ” 


THE  STRUGGLE. 


269 


Balsamo  could  resist  no  longer ; a cloud  of  flame  envel- 
oped him.  “ Oh  ! ” he  said,  “ it  is  too  much ; I have 
struggled  as  long  as  a human  being  could  struggle.  De- 
mon, or  angel  of  futurity,  whichever  thou  art,  thou  must 
be  content.  I have  long  enough  sacrificed  all  the  generous 
passions  in  my  heart  to  egotism  and  pride.  Oh,  no,  no ! 
I have  no  right  thus  to  rebel  against  the  only  human  sen- 
timent which  lives  in  my  heart.  I love  this  woman  ; I 
love  her,  and  this  passionate  love  injures  her  more  than 
the  most  terrible  hatred  could  do.  This  love  kills  her. 
Oh,  coward  ! oh,  ferocious  fool  that  I am  ! I cannot  even 
compromise  with  my  desires.  What ! when  I breathe  my 
last  sigh,  when  I appear  before  God,  — I,  the  deceiver, 
the  false  prophet,  — when  I throw  off  my  mantle  of  hypo- 
crisy before  the  Sovereign  Judge,  shall  I not  have  one 
generous  action  to  confess,  the  recollection  of  a single  hap- 
piness to  console  me  in  the  midst  of  my  eternal  sufferings'? 
Oh,  no,  no,  Lorenza ! I know  that  in  loving  thee  I lose 
the  future  ; I know  that  my  revealing  angel  will  wing  its 
flight  to  heaven  when  once  the  woman  shall  descend  into 
my  arms.  But,  Lorenza,  you  wish  it,  do  you  not  h ” 

“ My  beloved  ! ” she  sighed. 

“Then  you  accept  this  life  instead  of  the  real  life  ] ” 

“ I ask  for  it  on  my  knees,  — I pray  for  it,  I implore  it. 
This  life  is  love  and  happiness.” 

“ And  will  it  suffice  for  you  when  you  are  my  wife  1 For 
you  know  that  I love  you  passionately.” 

“ Oh  ! I know  it,  — I can  read  your  heart.” 

“ And  you  will  never  accuse  me,  before  men  or  before 
God,  of  having  taken  you  by  surprise,  or  of  having  de- 
ceived you  h ” 

“ Never ! Oh  ! before  men,  before  God,  on  the  contrary, 
I will  bless  you  for  giving  me  love,  — the  only  good,  the 
only  pearl,  the  only  diamond  in  the  world  1 ” 


270 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ You  will  never  regret  your  wings,  poor  dove  ? For  you 
must  know  that  you  will  never  again  roam  through  radiant 
space  for  me  to  seek  the  ray  of  light  Jehovah  once  deigned 
to  bestow  upon  his  prophets.  When  I would  know  the 
future,  when  I would  command  men,  alas ! alas  ! your 
voice  will  no  longer  reply  to  me.  I have  had  in  you  the 
beloved  woman  and  the  helping  spirit ; I shall  have  only 
one  of  the  two  now ; and  yet  — ” 

“ Ah  ! you  doubt,  you  doubt,”  cried  Lorenza  ; “ I see 
doubt  like  a dark  stain  upon  your  heart.” 

“ You  will  always  love  me,  Lorenza*?” 

“ Always  ! always  ! ” 

Balsamo  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead. 

“Well!  so  be  it,”  said  he.  “Besides  — ” He  re- 
mained a moment  buried  in  thought.  “ Besides,  am  I 
in  absolute  need  of  her  *?  ” he  continued.  “ Is  she  the 
only  one  in  the  world  *?  No,  no ; while  this  one  will 
make  me  happy,  the  other  will  continue  my  riches  and  my 
power.  Andree  is  as  prophetic,  as  clairvoyant  as  you  are. 
Andree  is  young,  pure,  virginal,  and  I do  not  love  her; 
and  yet  in  her  sleep  Andree  is  obedient  to  me,  like  you. 
I have  in  Andree  a subject  ready  to  replace  you ; and  to 
me  she  is  the  physician's  corpus  vile  which  may  serve 
for  experiments.  She  flies  as  far  as  you  do  — farther, 
perhaps  — into  the  shadows  of  the  unknown.  Andree, 
Andree ! I take  you  for  my  kingdom.  Lorenza,  come  to 
my  arms ; I keep  you  for  my  love  and  my  mistress.  With 
Andree  I am  powerful;  with  Lorenza  I am  happy.  From 
this  moment,  only,  my  life  is  complete,  and,  except  for 
immortality,  I have  realized  the  dream  of  Althotas,  — except 
for  immortality,  I am  equal  to  the  gods  ! ” and  raising 
Lorenza,  he  opened  his  panting  bosom,  to  which  she  clung 
as  the  ivy  clings  to  the  oak. 


LOVE. 


271 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

LOVE. 

Fob  Balsamo  another  life  had  begun,  — a life  hitherto 
unknown  in  his  active,  troubled,  multifarious  experience. 
For  three  days  there  had  been  for  him  no  more  anger,  no 
more  apprehension,  no  more  jealousy ; for  three  days  he 
had  not  heard  the  subject  of  politics,  conspirators,  or  con- 
spiracies as  much  as  whispered.  By  Lorenza’s  side  — and 
he  had  not  left  her  for  an  instant  — he  had  forgotten  the 
whole  world.  This  strange,  wonderful  love,  which,  as  it 
were,  soared  above  humanity,  this  intoxicating  and  mys- 
terious love,  this  love  of  a shadow,  — for  he  could  not 
conceal  from  himself  that  with  a word  he  could  change 
his  gentle  bride  into  an  implacable  enemy, — this  love 
snatched  from  hatred,  thanks  to  an  inexplicable  caprice  of 
nature  or  of  science,  plunged  Balsamo  into  happiness 
which  bordered  on  madness. 

More  than  once  during  these  three  days,  rousing  himself 
from  the  opiate  torpor  of  love,  Balsamo  looked  at  his  ever- 
smiling,  ever-ecstatic  companion,  — for  thenceforth,  in  the 
existence  he  had  created  for  her,  she  rested  from  her  life 
of  factitious  ecstasy  by  a sleep  equally  factitious  ; and 
when  he  saw  her  calm,  gentle,  happy,  when  she  called 
him  by  the  most  affectionate  names,  and  dreamed  aloud 
her  mysterious  love,  he  more  than  once  asked  himself 
if  God  were  not  angry  with  the  modern  Titan  who  had 
attempted  to  wrest  from  him  his  secrets ; if  he  bad  not  in- 
spired Lorenza  with  the  idea  of  deceiving  him  with  a false- 


272 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


hood  in  order  to  lull  his  vigilance,  and  when  it  was  lulled, 
of  escaping,  to  appear  again  as  an  avenging  fury. 

In  such  moments  Balsamo  doubted  the  truth  of  a 
science  received  by  tradition  from  antiquity,  but  of 
which  he  had  no  evidence  but  examples.  Immediately, 
however,  that  perpetual  flame,  that  thirst  for  caresses, 
reassured  him.  “ If  Lorenza  was  feigning/’  he  argued  with 
himself,  “ if  she  intended  to  fly  from  me,  she  would  seek 
opportunities  for  sending  me  away,  she  would  invent  ex- 
cuses for  occasional  solitude ; but  far  from  that,  her  arms 
are  always  embracing  me,  her  ardent  look  says  to  me, 
‘ Do  not  go  away  ; ’ her  gentle  voice  ever  whispers,  ‘ Stay  ! ’ ” 

Then  Balsamo’s  confidence  in  himself  and  in  science 
returned.  Why,  indeed,  should  the  magic  secret  to  which 
alone  he  owned  his  power  have  become  all  at  once,  and 
without  any  transition,  a chimera  fit  only  to  throw  to  the 
winds  as  a vanished  recollection,  as  the  smoke  of  an  extin- 
guished fire?  Never  with  relation  to  him  had  Lorenza 
been  more  lucid,  more  clear-sighted.  All  the  thoughts 
which  sprang  up  in  his  mind,  all  the  feelings  which  made 
his  heart  bound,  were  instantly  reproduced  in  hers.  It 
remained  to  be  seen  if  this  lucidity  were  not  sympathy ; 
if,  beyond  himself  and  the  young  girl,  beyond  the  circle 
which  their  love  had  traced,  and  which  their  love  illumi- 
nated with  its  light,  the  eyes  of  her  soul,  so  clear-sighted 
before  the  fall  of  this  new  Eve,  could  yet  pierce  the  sur- 
rounding darkness.  Balsamo  dared  not  make  the  decisive 
trial ; he  hoped  still,  and  this  hope  was  the  resplendent 
crown  of  his  happiness. 

Sometimes  Lorenza  said  to  him,  with  gentle  melancholy  : 
“ Aeharat,  you  think  of  another  than  me,  of  a woman 
of  the  North,  with  fair  hair  and  blue  eyes.  Aeharat, 
Aeharat,  this  woman  always  moves  beside  me  in  your 
thoughts  ! ” 


LOVE.  273 

Balsamo  looked  tenderly  at  Lorenza.  “ You  see  that  in 
me  ] ” said  he. 

“ Oh,  yes ! as  clearly  as  I read  the  surface  of  a 
mirror.” 

“ Then  you  know  it  is  not  love  which  makes  me  think 
of  that  woman,”  replied  Balsamo.  “ Bead  in  my  heart, 
dear  Lorenza  ! ” 

“ No,”  she  replied,  bending  her  head  ; “ no,  I know  it 
well.  But  yet  your  thoughts  are  divided  between  us  two, 
as  in  the  days  when  Lorenza  Feliciani  tormented  you,  — 
the  naughty  Lorenza,  who  sleeps,  and  whom  you  will  not 
again  awake.” 

“ No,  my  love,  no,”  exclaimed  Balsamo  ; “ I think  only 
of  you,  — at  least  with  the  heart.  Have  I not  forgotten 
all,  neglected  everything,  — study,  politics,  work,  — since 
our  happiness  1 ” 

“ And  you  are  wrong,”  said  Lorenza ; “for  I can  help 
you  in  your  work.” 

“ How]  ” 

“ Yes ; did  you  not  formerly  spend  whole  hours  in  your 
laboratory  ] ” 

“ Certainly.  But  I renounce  all  these  vain  endeavors. 
They  would  be  so  many  hours  taken  from  my  life ; for 
during  that  time  I should  not  see  you.” 

“ And  why  should  I not  be  with  you  in  your  labors  as 
in  your  love  ] Why  should  I not  make  you  powerful  as  I 
make  you  happy  ] ” 

“ Because  my  Lorenza,  it  is  true,  is  beautiful,  but  she 
has  not  studied.  God  gives  beauty  and  love,  but  study 
alone  gives  knowledge.” 

“ The  soul  knows  everything.” 

“ Then  you  can  really  see  with  the  eyes  of  your 
soul ] ” 

“ Yes.” 

VOL.  Ill,  — 18 


274 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ And  you  can  guide  me  in  the  grand  search  after  the 
philosopher’s  stone  ? ” 

“ I think  so” 

“ Come,  then  ; ” and  Balsamo,  encircling  her  waist  with 
his  arm,  led  her  into  his  laboratory.  The  fire  in  the 
gigantic  furnace,  which  no  one  had  replenished  for  four 
days,  was  extinguished,  and  the  crucibles  had  grown  cold 
upon  their  chafing-dishes. 

Lorenza  looked  around  on  all  these  strange  instruments, 
the  last  combinations  of  expiring  alchemy,  without  sur- 
prise. She  seemed  to  know  the  purpose  which  each  was 
intended  to  fulfil.  “ You  are  attempting  to  make  gold  ? ” 
said  she,  smiling. 

“Yes.” 

“All  these  crucibles  contain  preparations  in  different 
stages  of  progress.” 

“ All  stopped,  — all  lost ; but  I do  not  regret  it.” 

“ You  are  right,  for  your  gold  would  never  be  anything 
but  colored  mercury ; you  can  render  it  solid,  perhaps,  but 
you  cannot  transform  it.” 

“ But  gold  can  be  made  ] ” 

“No.” 

“And  yet  Daniel  of  Transylvania  sold  the  receipt  for 
the  transmutation  of  metals  to  Cosmo  the  First  for  twenty 
thousand  ducats.” 

“ Daniel  of  Transylvania  deceived  Cosmo  the  First.” 

“ And  yet  the  Saxon  Payken,  who  was  condemned  to 
death  by  Charles  the  Second,  ransomed  his  life  by  chang- 
ing a leaden  ingot  into  a golden  one,  from  which  forty 
ducats  were  coined,  and  gold  enough  was  taken  to  make 
a medal,  which  was  struck  in  honor  of  the  clever 
alchemist.” 

“ The  clever  alchemist  was  nothing  but  a clever  juggler. 
He  merely  substituted  the  golden  ingot  for  the  leaden 


LOVE. 


275 


one,  — nothing  more.  Your  surest  way  of  making  gold, 
Acharat,  is  to  melt  into  ingots,  as  you  do  already,  the 
riches  which  your  slaves  bring  you  from  the  four  quarters 
of  the  world/ 1 

Balsamo  remained  pensive.  “ Then  the  transmutation 
of  metals  is  impossible  ] ” said  he. 

“ Impossible.” 

“ And  the  diamond,  — is  that,  too,  impossible  1 ” 

“ Oh  ! the  diamond  is  another  matter,”  said  Lorenza. 

“ The  diamond  can  be  made,  then  1 ” 

“ Yes ; for  to  make  the  diamond,  you  have  not  to 
transmute  one  body  into  another,  — to  make  the  diamond 
is  merely  to  attempt  the  simple  modification  of  a known 
element.” 

“ Then  you  know  the  element  of  which  the  diamond  is 
formed  ? ” 

“ To  be  sure ; the  diamond  is  pure  carbon  crystallized.” 
Balsamo  was  almost  stunned.  A dazzling,  unexpected, 
unheard-of  light  flashed  before  his  eyes ; he  covered  them 
with  both  hands,  as  if  the  flame  had  blinded  him. 

“ Oh  ! my  God,”  said  he,  “ my  God,  thou  dost  for  me 
too  much  ; some  danger  threatens  me  ! What  precious 
ring  must  I throw  into  the  sea  to  appease  thy  jealousy  1 
Enough,  Lorenza,  for  to-day  ! ” 

“ Am  I not  yours  ? Order,  command  me  ! ” 

“ Yes,  you  are  mine.  Come,  come  ! ” 

And  he  drew  her  out  of  the  laboratory,  crossed  the 
chamber  of  furs,  and  without  paying  any  attention  to  a 
light,  creaking  noise  he  heard  overhead,  he  once  more 
entered  the  barred  room  with  Lorenza. 

“So  you  are  pleased  with  your  Lorenza,  my  beloved 
Balsamo  ? ” 

“ Oh  ! ” he  exclaimed. 

“ What  did  you  fear,  then  ? Speak,  — tell  me  all.” 


276 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Balsamo  clasped  his  hands,  and  looked  at  Lorenza  with 
an  expression  of  such  terror  that  a spectator  ignorant  of 
what  was  in  his  heart  would  have  been  totally  at  a loss  to 
account  for  it. 

“ Oh  ! ” he  murmured,  u and  I was  near  killing  this 
angel ; I was  near  dying  of  despair  before  resolving  the 
problem  of  being  at  once  powerful  and  happy  ! I forgot 
that  the  limits  of  the  possible  always  exceed  the  horizon 
traced  by  the  existing  state  of  science,  and  that  the  ma- 
jority of  truths  which  have  become  facts  have  always  in 
their  infancy  been  looked  upon  as  dreams.  I thought  I 
knew  everything,  and  I knew  nothing  ! ” 

The  young  Italian  smiled  divinely. 

“ Lorenza,  Lorenza  ! ” continued  Balsamo,  “ the  myste- 
rious design  of  the  Creator  is,  then,  accomplished,  which 
makes  woman  to  be  born  of  the  substance  of  the  man,  and 
which  commands  them  to  have  only  one  heart  in  common  ! 
Eve  is  revived  for  me,  — an  Eve  who  will  not  have  a 
thought  that  is  not  mine,  and  whose  life  hangs  by  the 
thread  which  I hold.  It  is  too  much,  my  God,  for  a crea- 
ture to  possess  ! I sink  under  the  weight  of  thy  gift ! ” 
and  he  fell  upon  his  knees,  embracing  with  adoration  the 
gentle  beauty,  who  smiled  on  him  as  none  smile  on 
earth. 

“ Oh,  no  ! ” he  continued  ; “ no,  you  shall  never  leave 
me  more  ! I shall  live  in  all  safety  under  the  protection 
of  your  clairvoyance,  which  can  pierce  into  the  future. 
You  will  assist  me  in  those  laborious  researches  which  you 
alone,  as  you  have  said,  can  complete,  and  which  one  word 
from  you  will  render  easy  and  successful.  You  will  show 
me,  — since  I cannot  make  gold,  gold  being  a homoge- 
neous substance,  a primitive  element,  — you  will  show  me 
in  what  corner  of  the  world  the  Creator  has  concealed  it ; 
you  will  tell  me  where  the  rich  treasures  lie  which  have 


LOVE. 


277 


been  swallowed  up  in  the  vast  depths  of  the  ocean.  With 
your  eyes  I shall  see  the  pearl  grow  in  the  veined  shell, 
and  man's  thoughts  spring  up  under  the  thick  layers  of 
his  flesh.  With  your  ears  I shall  hear  the  dull  sound  of 
the  worm  beneath  the  ground,  and  the  footsteps  of  my 
enemy  as  he  approaches  ! I shall  be  great  as  God,  and 
happier  than  God,  my  Lorenza ; for  God  has  not  in 
heaven  his  equal  and  companion,  — for  God  is  almighty, 
but  he  is  alone  in  his  divine  majesty,  and  does  not  share 
with  any  other  divine  being  that  almightiness  which  makes 
him  God.” 

Lorenza  still  smiled  upon  him,  and  as  she  smiled  she 
replied  to  his  words  by  affectionate  caresses.  “ And  yet,” 
she  whispered,  as  if  she  could  see  each  thought  which 
whirled  through  his  restless  brain,  “ and  yet  you  doubt 
still,  Acliarat,  as  you  have  said,  if  I can  cross  the  circle  of 
our  love,  — you  doubt  if  I can  see  into  the  distance  ; but 
you  console  yourself  by  thinking  that  if  I cannot  see,  she 
can.” 

“ She  ! Who  1 ” 

“ The  fair-haired  beauty.  Shall  I tell  you  her  name  'l  ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Stay,  — Andree  ! ” 

“ Ah,  yes ; you  can  read  my  thoughts  ! Yes,  a last  fear 
still  troubles  me.  Can  you  still  see  through  space,  though 
material  obstacles  intervene  ? ” 

“ Try  me.” 

“ Give  me  your  hand,  Lorenza.” 

The  young  girl  passionately  seized  Balsamo's  hand. 

“ Can  you  follow  me  ] ” 

“ Anywhere  ] ” 

“Come!”  and  Balsamo,  leaving  in  thought  the  Rue 
Saint  Claude,  drew  Lorenza’s  thoughts  along  with  him. 

“ Where  are  we  ] ” he  asked. 


278 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


We  are  upon  a hill,”  replied  the  young  woman. 

“ Yes,  you  are  right,”  said  Balsamo,  trembling  with 
delight.  “ But  what  do  you  see  1 ” 

“ Before  me  ? — to  the  right,  or  to  the  left  1 ” 

“ Before  you.” 

u I see  a long  valley,  with  a wood  on  one  side,  a town  on 
the  other,  and  a river  which  separates  them  and  loses  itself 
in  the  horizon,  after  flowing  under  the  walls  of  a large 
chateau.” 

“ That  is  right,  Lorenza.  The  forest  is  that  of  Vesinet; 
the  town  St.  Germain ; the  chateau  is  the  Chateau  de 
Maisons.  Let  us  enter  the  pavilion  behind  us.  What  do 
you  see  there  1 ” 

66  Ah  ! in  the  first  place,  in  the  antechamber,  a little 
negro,  fantastically  dressed,  eating  sugar-plums.” 

“ Yes,  Zamore.  Proceed,  proceed  ! ” 

“ An  empty  salon,  splendidly  furnished ; the  space* 
above  the  doors  painted  with  goddesses  and  cupids.” 

“ The  salon  is  empty,  you  say  1 ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Let  us  go  still  farther.” 

“ Ah ! we  are  in  a splendid  boudoir,  lined  with  blue 
satin  embroidered  with  flowers  of  natural  colors.” 

“ Is  that  empty  also?” 

“ No ; a woman  is  reclining  upon  a sofa.” 

“ What  woman  ? Do  you  not  remember  to  have  seen 
her  before  ? ” 

“ Yes ; it  is  the  Comtesse  Dubarry.” 

“ Eight,  Lorenza  ! I shall  go  frantic  with  delight ! 
What  does  the  woman  do  ? ” 

“ She  is  thinking  of  you,  Balsamo.” 

“ Of  me  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then  you  can  read  her  thoughts  ? ” 


LOVE. 


279 


“Yes,  for  I repeat  it,  she  is  thinking  of  you.” 

" And  what  is  she  thinking  1 ” 

“You  have  made  her  a promise.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ You  promised  her  that  water  of  beauty  which  Venus, 
to  revenge  herself  on  Sappho,  gave  to  Phaon.” 

“ Yes,  yes,  you  are  right  again  ! And  what  does  she 
do  while  thinking  1 ” 

“ She  comes  to  a decision.” 

“ What  decision  1 ” 

“ She  reaches  out  her  hand  toward  the  hell ; she  rings ; 
another  young  woman  enters.” 

“ Dark  or  light  haired  1 ” 

“ Dark.” 

“ Tall  or  short  1 ” 

“ Short.” 

“ Her  sister.  Listen  to  what  she  says  to  her.” 

“ She  orders  the  horses  to  be  harnessed  to  her  carriage.” 
“ To  go  whither  1 ” 

" To  come  here.” 

“ Are  you  sure  ? ” 

“ She  is  giving  the  order.  Stay,  — she  is  obeyed  ; I 
see  the  horses  and  the  carriage.  In  two  hours  she  will  he 
here.” 

Balsamo  fell  upon  his  knees.  “ Oh  ! ” he  exclaimed, 
“ if  in  two  hours  she  should  really  he  here,  I shall  have 
nothing  left  to  ask  of  thee,  my  God,  except  to  have  mercy 
on  my  happiness.” 

“ My  poor  friend  ! then  you  still  feared  1 ” 

“ Yes,  yes  ! ” 

" And  why  did  you  fear  1 Love,  which  completes 
the  material  existence,  increases  also  our  mental  powers. 
Love,  like  every  generous  emotion,  brings  us  nearer  to 
God,  and  all  wisdom  comes  from  God.” 


280 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Lorenza,  Lorenza,  you  will  drive  me  mad  with  joy ! 99 
said  Balsamo,  letting  his  head  fall  on  Lorenza’s  knees. 

Balsamo  now  waited  for  but  one  more  proof  to  be 
completely  happy. 

This  proof  was  the  arrival  of  Madame  Dubarry.  The 
two  hours  of  suspense  were  short.  All  measure  of  time 
had  completely  ceased  for  Balsamo.  Suddenly  the  young 
woman  started,  and  took  Balsamo’s  hand.  “You  are 
doubting  yet,”  said  she,  “ and  you  wish  to  know  where 
she  is  at  this  moment.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Balsamo,  “ you  are  right.” 

“ Well,”  replied  Lorenza,  “ she  is  thundering  along  the 
Boulevards  at  the  full  speed  of  her  horses;  she  approaches ; 
she  turns  into  the  Bue  Saint  Claude ; she  stops  before  the 
door  and  knocks.” 

The  apartment  in  which  they  were,  was  so  retired  and 
so  quiet  that  the  noise  of  the  iron  knocker  could  not  pene- 
trate its  recesses ; but  Balsamo,  rising  on  one  knee,  was 
anxiously  listening.  At  this  moment  two  knocks  struck 
by  Fritz  made  him  bound  to  his  feet ; for,  as  the  reader 
will  remember,  two  knocks  were  the  signal  of  an  impor- 
tant visit. 

“ Oh  ! ” said  he,  “ then  it  is  true  ? 99 

“ Go  and  convince  yourself,  Balsamo  ; but  return 
quickly.” 

Balsamo  advanced  toward  the  fireplace. 

“Let  me  accompany  you,”  said  Lorenza,  “as  far  as  the 
door  of  the  staircase.” 

“ Come  ! ” and  they  both  passed  together  into  the 
chamber  of  furs. 

“You  will  not  leave  this  room?”  asked  Balsamo. 

“ No  ; I will  await  you  here.  Oh  ! do  not  fear ; you 
know  the  Lorenza  who  loves  you  is  not  the  Lorenza  whom 
you  fear.  Besides  — ” She  stopped,  and  smiled. 


LOVE. 


281 


“What?”  asked  Balsamo. 

“ Can  you  not  read  in  my  soul  as  I read  yours  ? ” 

“ Alas  ! no.” 

“ Besides,  you  can  command  me  to  sleep  until  you 
return.  Command  me  to  remain  immovable  upon  this 
sofa,  and  I shall  sleep,  and  be  motionless.” 

“ Well,  my  Lorenza,  it  shall  be  so.  Sleep,  and  await 
my  return  here  ! ” 

Lorenza,  already  struggling  with  sleep,  pressed  her  lips 
to  Balsam o’s  in  a last  kiss,  and  fell  back  upon  the  sofa, 
murmuring  : “You  will  return  soon,  my  Balsamo,  will 
you  not?” 

Balsamo  waved  his  hand.  Lorenza  was  already  asleep  ; 
but  so  beautiful,  so  pure,  with  her  long,  flowing  hair,  the 
feverish  glow  upon  her  cheeks,  her  half-opened  and  swim- 
ming eyes,  so  little  like  a mortal,  that  Balsamo  came  back 
to  her,  took  her  hand,  kissed  her  arms  and  her  neck,  but 
dared  not  kiss  her  lips. 

Two  knocks  were  heard  a second  time.  The  lady  was 
becoming  impatient,  or  Fritz  feared  that  his  master  had 
not  heard  him.  Balsamo  hastened  to  the  door.  As  he 
closed  it  behind  him,  he  thought  he  heard  a second  creak- 
ing noise  like  the  former  one.  He  opened  the  door  again, 
looked  round,  and  saw  nothing,  — nothing  but  Lorenza 
lying  down,  and  breathing  quickly  under  the  pressure  of 
her  love.  He  closed  the  door,  and  hastened  toward  the 
salon  without  uneasiness,  without  fear,  without  fore- 
boding, — all  heaven  in  his  heart ! 

Balsamo  was  mistaken  ; it  was  not  love  alone  which 
oppressed  Lorenza’s  bosom  and  made  her  breathe  so 
heavily.  It  was  a kind  of  dream  which  seemed  to  belong 
to  the  lethargy  in  which  she  was  plunged,  — a lethargy 
which  so  nearly  resembled  death. 

Lorenza  dreamed,  and  in  the  hideous  mirror  of  her 


282 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


gloomy  dreams  she  fancied  she  saw,  through  the  darkness 
which  began  to  close  around  her,  the  oaken  ceiling  open, 
and  something  like  a large  circular  platform  descend 
slowly,  with  a regular,  slow,  measured  movement,  accom- 
panied by  a disagreeable  hissing  noise.  It  seemed  to  her 
as  if  she  breathed  with  difficulty,  as  if  she  were  almost 
suffocated  by  the  pressure  of  this  moving  circle.  It 
seemed  to  her  as  if  upon  this  moving  trap  something 
moved,  — some  misshapen  being  like  Caliban  in  “ The 
Tempest,” — a monster  with  a human  face,  an  old  man 
whose  eyes  and  arms  alone  were  living,  and  who  looked 
at  her  with  his  frightful  eyes,  and  stretched  his  fleshless 
arms  toward  her.  And  she  — she,  poor  child  ! — writhed 
in  vain,  without  power  to  escape,  without  understanding 
the  danger  which  threatened  her,  without  consciouness  of 
anything  but  the  grasp  of  two  living  flesh-hooks  seizing 
upon  her  white  dress,  lifting  her  from  her  sofa,  and  placing 
her  upon  the  trap,  which  reascended  slowly  toward  the 
ceiling  with  the  grating  noise  of  iron  scraping  against 
iron,  and  with  a hideous,  mocking  laugh  from  the  mon- 
ster with  the  human  face,  who  was  raising  her  aloft  with* 
out  shock  and  without  pain. 


THE  PHILTRE. 


283 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  PHILTRE. 

As  Lorenza  had  foretold,  it  was  Madame  Dubarry  who 
had  just  knocked  at  the  gate.  The  beautiful  countess  had 
been  ushered  into  the  salon.  While  awaiting  Balsamo’s 
arrival,  she  was  looking  over  that  curious  “ Book  of 
Death,”  engraved  at  Mayence,  the  plates  of  which,  de- 
signed with  marvellous  skill,  show  death  presiding  over 
all  the  acts  of  man’s  life,  — waiting  for  him  at  the  door 
of  the  ball-room  after  he  has  pressed  the  hand  of  the 
woman  he  loves,  dragging  him  to  the  bottom  of  the  water 
in  which  he  is  bathing,  or  hiding  in  the  barrel  of  the  gun 
he  carries  to  the  chase. 

Madame  Dubarry  was  contemplating  the  plate  which 
represents  a beautiful  woman  daubing  her  face  with  rouge 
and  looking  at  herself  in  the  glass,  when  Balsam o opened 
the  door  and  bowed  to  her,  with  the  smile  of  happiness 
still  beaming  upon  his  face.  “ Excuse  me,  Madame,”  said 
he,  “ for  having  made  you  wait ; but  I had  not  well  cal- 
culated the  distance,  or  was  ignorant  of  the  speed  of  your 
horses.  I thought  you  still  at  the  Place  Louis  XV.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  ? ” asked  the  countess.  “ You 
knew  I was  coming,  then  ? ” 

“ Yes,  Madame ; it  is  about  two  hours  ago  that  I saw 
you,  in  your  blue  satin  boudoir,  giving  orders  for  your 
horses  to  be  put  to  the  carriage.” 

“And  you  say  I was  in  my  blue  satin  boudoir?” 


284 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Embroidered  with  flowers  colored  after  nature.  Yes, 
Countess,  you  were  reclining  upon  a sofa;  a pleasing 
thought  passed  through  your  mind.  You  said  to  your- 
self, ‘ I will  go  and  visit  the  Comte  de  Fenix  ; ’ then  you 
rang  the  bell.” 

“ And  who  entered  ? ” 

“ Your  sister,  Countess.  Am  I right  1 You  requested  her 
to  transmit  your  orders,  which  were  instantly  executed.” 

“ Truly,  Count,  you  are  a sorcerer  ! Can  you  look  into 
my  boudoir  like  that  every  moment  of  the  day  ] If  so, 
you  should  have  warned  me,  do  you  see  ? ” 

“ Ah  J be  assured,  Countess,  I can  look  only  through 
open  doors.” 

“ And  looking  through  open  doors,  you  saw  that  I was 
thinking  of  you  ? ” 

“Yes;  and  even  that  you  thought  of  me  with  benevo- 
lent intentions.” 

“ Ah,  you  are  right,  my  dear  Count ! I have  the  best 
possible  intentions  toward  you ; but  confess  that  you  de- 
serve more  than  intentions,  — you  who  are  so  kind  and  so 
useful,  and  who  seem  destined  to  play  in  my  life  the  part 
of  tutor,  which  is  the  most  difficult  part,  I know.” 

“ In  truth,  Madame,  you  make  me  very  happy  ! Then 
I have  been  of  use  to  you  ? ” 

“ What ! you  are  a sorcerer,  and  you  do  not  know  ? ” 
c<  Allow  me  at  least  the  merit  of  being  modest.” 

“ As  you  please,  my  dear  Count ; then  I will  first  speak 
of  what  I have  done  for  you.” 

“ I cannot  permit  it,  Madame ; on  the  contrary,  speak 
of  yourself,  I beseech  you  ! ” 

“ Well,  my  dear  Count,  in  the  first  place,  give  me  that 
talisman  wdiich  renders  one  invisible ; for  on  my  journey 
hither,  rapid  as  it  was,  I thought  I recognized  one  of  Mon- 
sieur de  Richelieu’s  grays.” 


THE  PHILTRE. 


285 


“ And  this  gray  1 99 

“ Followed  my  carriage,  carrying  on  his  back  a courier.” 

“ What  do  you  think  of  this  circumstance,  and  for 
what  purpose  could  the  duke  have  caused  you  to  he 
followed  ] ” 

“ With  the  intention  of  playing  me  some  scurvy  trick. 
Modest  as  you  are,  my  dear  Comte  de  Fenix,  you  must  be 
aware  that  Nature  has  gifted  you  with  personal  advantages 
enough  to  make  a king  jealous  of  my  visits  to  you,  or  of 
yours  to  me.” 

“ Monsieur  de  Richelieu  cannot  be  dangerous  to  you  in 
any  way,  Madame,”  replied  Balsamo. 

“ But  he  was  so,  my  dear  Count ; he  was  dangerous 
before  this  last  event.” 

Balsamo  comprehended  that  there  was  a secret  concealed 
beneath  these  words  which  Lorenza  had  not  yet  revealed 
to  him.  He  did  not  therefore  venture  on  the  unknown 
ground,  and  replied  merely  by  a smile. 

" He  was  indeed,”  repeated  the  countess ; “ and  I was 
near  falling  a victim  to  a most  skilfully  constructed  plot, 
— a plot  in  which  you  also  had  some  share,  Count.” 

“ I,  engaged  in  a plot  against  you  1 Never,  Madame  ! 99 

“Was  it  not  you  who  gave  the  Due  de  Richelieu  the 
philtre  ? 99 

“ What  philtre  ] 99 

“A  draught  which  causes  the  most  ardent  love.” 

“No,  Madame;  Monsieur  de  Richelieu  composes  those 
draughts  himself,  for  he  has  long  known  the  receipt.  I 
merely  gave  him  a simple  narcotic.” 

“ Ah  ! really  ? ” 

“ Upon  my  honor  ! ” 

“And  on  what  day  did  Monsieur  de  Richelieu  ask  for 
this  narcotic'?  Remember  the  date,  Count;  it  is  of 
importance.” 


286 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Madame,  it  was  last  Saturday,  — the  day  previous  to 
that  on  which  I had  the  honor  of  sending  you,  through 
Fritz,  the  note  requesting  you  to  meet  me  at  the  house  of 
Monsieur  de  Sartines.” 

“ The  eve  of  that  day ! ” exclaimed  the  countess. 
“ The  eve  of  the  day  on  which  the  king  was  seen  going  to 
see  little  Taverney  ] Oh  ! now  everything  is  explained.” 

“ Then,  if  all  is  explained,  you  see  I gave  only  the 
narcotic.” 

“Yes,  it  is  the  narcotic  which  saved  us.” 

This  time  Balsamo  waited ; he  was  profoundly  ignorant 
of  the  subject. 

“ I am  delighted,  Madame,”  he  replied,  “ to  have  been 
useful  to  you,  even  unintentionally.” 

“ Oh  ! you  are  always  kindness  itself.  But  you  can  do 
more  for  me  than  you  have  ever  yet  done.  Oh,  doctor ! 
I have  been  very  ill,  politically  speaking,  and  even  now  I 
can  scarcely  believe  in  my  recovery.” 

“ Madame,”  said  Balsamo,  “ the  doctor,  since  there  is  a 
doctor  in  the  case,  always  requires  the  details  of  the  illness 
he  is  to  cure.  Will  you  give  me  the  exact  particulars  of 
what  you  have  experienced  h — and  if  possible,  do  not 
forget  a single  symptom.” 

“ Nothing  can  be  more  simple,  my  dear  doctor,  or  dear 
sorcerer,  whichever  you  prefer.  The  eve  of  the  day  on 
which  this  narcotic  was  used,  his  Majesty  refused  to  accom- 
pany me  to  Luciennes.  He  remained,  like  a deceiver  as 
he  is,  at  Trianon,  pretending  fatigue ; and  yet,  as  I have 
since  learned,  he  supped  at  Trianon  with  the  Due  de 
Richelieu  and  the  Baron  de  Taverney.” 

“ Ha  ! ” 

“ Now  you  understand.  At  supper  the  love-draught  was 
given  to  the  king.  He  was  already  captivated  by  Made- 
moiselle Andree ; it  was  known  that  he  would  not  see  me 


THE  PHILTRE. 


287 


the  next  day;  it  was  therefore  with  reference  to  that 
young  lady  that  the  philtre  was  to  operate.” 

“ Well,  what  happened  1 ” 

“ Oh  ! that  is  difficult  to  discover  positively.  The  king 
was  seen  going  in  the  direction  of  the  offices  of  Trianon,  — 
that  is  to  say,  toward  Mademoiselle  Andree’s  apartment.” 

“ I know  where  she  lives  ; but  what  followed  % ” 

“ Ah  ! ‘ What  followed  1 ’ Peste , how  fast  you  are, 
Count.  The  king  cannot  be  followed  without  risk  when 
he  wishes  to  conceal  himself.” 

“ But,  in  short  1 ” 

“ In  short,  all  I can  tell  you  is  that  his  Majesty  returned 
to  Trianon  through  a fearful  storm,  pale,  trembling,  and 
feverish,  — almost  on  the  verge  of  delirium.” 

“ And  you  think,”  said  Balsamo,  smiling,  “ that  it  was 
not  the  storm  alone  which  alarmed  his  Majesty  ] ” 

“ No,  for  the  valet  heard  him  cry  several  times,  ‘Dead, 
dead,  dead  ! ’ ” 

“ Oh  ! ” said  Balsamo. 

“It  was  the  narcotic,”  continued  Madame  Dubarry. 
“ Nothing  alarms  the  king  so  much  as  death,  and  next  to 
death  its  semblance.  He  had  found  Mademoiselle  de 
Taverney  sleeping  a strange  sleep,  and  must  have  thought 
her  .dead.” 

“ Yes,  yes  ; dead  indeed,”  said  Balsamo,  who  remem- 
bered having  fled  without  awakening  Andree,  — “ dead,  or 
at  least  presenting  all  the  appearance  of  death.  Yes,  yes, 
— it  must  be  so.  Well,  Madame,  and  what  then  1 ” 

“No  one  knows,  then,  what  happened  that  night,  or 
rather,  in  the  first  part  of  the  night.  The  king,  on  his 
return,  was  attacked  by  a violent  fever  and  a nervous 
trembling,  which  did  not  leave  him  until  the  morning, 
when  it  occurred  to  the  dauphiness  to  open  the  shutters 
and  show  his  Majesty  a lovely  morning,  with  the  sun 


288 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


shining  upon  merry  faces.  Then  all  these  unknown  vis- 
ions disappeared  with  the  night  which  had  produced  them. 
At  noon  the  king  was  better,  tools  some  broth,  and  ate  a 
partridge’s  wing;  and  in  the  evening  — ” 

“ And  in  the  evening  — ? ” repeated  Ealsamo. 

“In  the  evening,”  continued  Madame  Dubarry,  “his 
Majesty,  who  no  doubt  would  not  stay  at  Trianon  after 
his  fright,  came  to  see  me  at  Luciennes,  where,  dear  Count, 
I discovered,  upon  my  word,  that  Monsieur  de  Richelieu 
was  almost  as  great  a sorcerer  as  you  are.” 

The  triumphant  countenance  and  graceful  hut  roguish 
look  of  the  countess  reassured  Balsamo  as  to  the  power 
the  favorite  yet  exercised  over  the  king.  “ Then  you  are 
satisfied  with  me,  Madame  ] ” he  asked. 

“ Delighted,  Count ! and  when  you  spoke  of  impossi- 
bilities you  could  create,  you  told  the  exact  truth  ; ” and 
in  token  of  thanks  she  gave  him  her  soft,  white,  perfumed 
hand,  which  was  not  so  fresh  as  Lorenza’s,  hut  whose 
warmth  had  also  its  own  eloquence. 

“ And  now,  Count,  let  us  speak  of  yourself.” 

Balsamo  bowed  like  a man  ready  to  listen. 

“ If  you  have  preserved  me  from  a great  danger,”  con- 
tinued Madame  Dubarry,  “ I think  I have  also  saved  you 
from  no  inconsiderable  peril.” 

“ Me  ! ” said  Balsamo,  concealing  his  emotion.  “ I do 
not  require  that  to  feel  grateful  to  you  ; but  yet,  be  good 
enough  to  inform  me  what  — ” 

“Yes.  The  coffer  in  question — ” 

“ Well,  Madame  ? ” 

“ Contained  a multitude  of  ciphers,  which  Monsieur  de 
Sartines  caused  all  his  clerks  to  translate.  All  signed 
their  several  translations,  executed  apart,  and  all  gave  the 
same  result.  In  consequence  of  this,  Monsieur  de  Sartines 
arrived  at  Versailles  this  morning  while  I was  there,  bring- 


THE  PHILTRE. 


289 


ing  with  him  all  these  translations  and  the  dictionary  of 
diplomatic  ciphers.” 

“ Ha  ! — and  what  did  the  king  say  1 ” 

“ The  king  seemed  surprised  at  first,  then  alarmed.  His 
Majesty  easily  listens  to  those  who  speak  to  him  of  clanger. 
Since  the  stab  of  Damiens’  penknife,  there  is  one  word 
which  is  ever  eagerly  hearkened  to  by  Louis  XV.,  — it  is, 
* Take  care  ! ’ ” 

“ Then  you  say  that  Monsieur  de  Sartines  accused  me 
of  plotting!” 

“ At  first  Monsieur  de  Sartines  endeavored  to  make  me 
leave  the  room ; but  I refused,  declaring  that  as  no  one 
was  more  attached  to  his  Majesty  than  myself,  no  one  had 
a right  to  make  me  leave  him  when  danger  was  in  ques- 
tion. Monsieur  de  Sartines  insisted,  but  I resisted ; and 
the  king,  smiling  and  looking  at  me  in  a manner  I know 
well,  said,  i Let  her  remain,  Sartines ; I can  refuse  her 
nothing  to-day/ 

“ Then  you  understand,  Count,  that  as  I was  present, 
Monsieur  de  Sartines,  remembering  our  adieu,  so  clearly 
expressed,  feared  to  displease  me  by  attacking  you.  He 
therefore  spoke  of  the  evil  designs  of  the  King  of  Prussia 
toward  France ; of  the  disposition  prevalent  to  facilitate 
the  march  of  rebellion  by  supernatural  means.  In  a word, 
he  accused  a great  many  people,  proving  always  by  the 
papers  he  held  that  these  persons  were  guilty.” 

“ Guilty  of  what  ? ” 

“ Of  what ! Count,  ought  I to  disclose  secrets  of 
State ! ” 

“ Which  are  our  secrets,  Madame.  Oh,  you  risk  noth- 
ing ! I think  it  is  my  interest  not  to  speak.” 

“ Yes,  Count,  I know  that  Monsieur  de  Sartines  wished 
to  prove  that  a numerous  and  powerful  sect,  composed  of 
bold,  skilful,  resolute  agents,  were  silently  undermining 
vol.  in.  — 19 


290 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


the  respect  due  to  the  king,  by  spreading  certain  reports 
concerning  his  Majesty.” 

“ What  reports  ? ” 

“ Saying,  for  instance,  that  his  Majesty  was  accused  of 
starving  his  people.” 

“ To  which  the  king  replied  — ” 

“As  the  king  always  replies,  by  a joke.” 

Balsamo  breathed  again. 

“ And  what  was  the  joke  ? ” he  asked. 

“ 6 Since  I am  accused  of  starving  the  people,’  said  he, 
‘ there  is  only  one  reply  to  make  to  the  accusation,  — let 
us  feed  them.’  6 How  so,  Sire  1 ’ said  Monsieur  de  Sartines. 
‘ I will  take  the  charge  of  feeding  all  those  who  spread 
this  report,  and  moreover  will  give  them  safe  lodging  in 
my  chateau  of  the  Bastille.’  ” 

A slight  shudder  passed  through  Balsamo’s  limbs,  but 
he  retained  his  smiling  countenance.  “ What  followed  1 ” 
he  asked. 

“ Then  the  king  seemed  to  consult  me  by  a smile. 
‘ Sire,’  said  I,  ‘ I can  never  believe  that  those  little  black 
characters  which  Monsieur  de  Sartines  has  brought  to  you 
mean  that  you  are  a bad  king.’  Then  the  lieutenant  of 
police  exclaimed  loudly.  ‘ Any  more,’  I added,  ‘ than  they 
prove  that  your  clerks  can  read.’ 99 

“ And  what  did  the  king  say,  Countess  ? ” asked 
Balsamo. 

“ That  I might  be  right,  but  that  Monsieur  de  Sartines 

was  not  wrong.” 

“ Well,  and  then  1 ” 

“ Then  a great  many  lettres-de-cachet  were  made  out, 
and  I saw  that  Monsieur  de  Sartines  tried  to  slip  among 
them  one  for  you ; but  I stood  firm,  and  arrested  him  by 
a single  word.  ‘ Monsieur,’  I said  aloud,  and  before  the 
king,  ‘ arrest  all  Paris,  if  you  like,  — that  is  your  business ; 


THE  PHILTRE. 


291 


but  you  had  better  reflect  a little  before  you  lay  a finger 
on  one  of  my  friends.  If  not  — ’ ‘ Oh,  ho  ! ’ said  the 

king,  ‘ she  is  getting  angry ; take  care,  Sartines  ! ’ ‘ But, 

Sire,  the  interest  of  the  kingdom  — ’ ‘ Oh,  you  are  not 

a Sully  ! 9 said  I,  crimson  with  rage ; ‘ and  I am  not  a 
Gabrielle.’  ‘ Madame,  they  intend  to  assassinate  the  king, 
as  Henri  IV.  was  assassinated  ! ’ For  the  first  time  the 
king  turned  pale,  trembled,  and  put  his  hand  to  his  head. 
I feared  I was  vanquished.  ‘ Sire/  said  I,  ‘ you  must  let 
Monsieur  de  Sartines  have  his  own  way;  for  his  clerks 
have  no  doubt  read  in  these  ciphers  that  I also  am  con- 
spiring against  you ; ’ and  I left  the  room.  But,  bless 
me,  it  was  the  morning  after  the  philtre,  my  dear  Count ! 
The  king  preferred  my  company  to  that  of  Monsieur  de 
Sartines,  and  ran  after  me.  ‘ Ah,  for  pity’s  sake,  my  dear 
Countess/  said  he,  ‘pray  do  not  get  angry  ! 9 ‘Then  send 
away  that  horrid  man,  Sire;  he  smells  of  dungeons.’ 
‘ Go,  Sartines ; off  with  you  ! ’ said  the  king,  shrugging 
his  shoulders.  ‘ And  for  the  future  I forbid  you,  not 
only  to  visit  me,  but  even  to  bow  to  me/  added  I.  At 
this  blow  our  magistrate  became  alarmed  ; he  approached 
me,  and  humbly  kissed  my  hand.  ‘Well/  said  he,  ‘so 
be  it ; let  us  speak  no  more  of  it,  fair  lady.  But  you  will 
ruin  the  State.  Since  you  absolutely  insist  upon  it,  your 
protege  shall  be  respected  by  my  agents.’  ” 

Balsamo  seemed  plunged  in  a deep  re  very. 

“ Well,”  said  the  countess,  “ so  you  do  not  even  thank 
me  for  having  saved  you  from  the  pleasure  of  lodging  in 
the  Bastille,  which  perhaps  might  have  been  unjust,  but 
assuredly  no  less  disagreeable  on  that  account  1 ” 

Balsamo  made  no  reply.  He  drew  a small  phial,  filled 
with  a fluid  red  as  blood,  from  his  pocket.  “Hold,  Ma- 
dame ! ” said  he ; “ for  the  liberty  you  have  procured  for 
me,  I give  you  twenty  years’  additional  youth  ! ” 


292 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


The  countess  slipped  the  phial  into  her  bosom,  and 
took  her  leave  joyous  and  triumphant.  Balsamo  still  re- 
mained thinking.  “ They  might  perhaps  have  been  saved,” 
said  he,  “but  for  the  coquetry  of  a woman.  This  courte- 
san’s little  foot  dashes  them  down  into  the  depths  of  the 
abyss.  Decidedly,  God  is  with  us  ! ” 


BLOOD. 


293 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

BLOOD. 

The  door  had  no  sooner  closed  upon  Madame  Dubarry 
than  Balsamo  ascended  the  secret  staircase  and  entered 
the  chamber  of  furs.  The  conversation  with  the  countess 
had  been  long,  and  for  two  reasons  he  was  impatient. 
The  first  was  the  desire  to  see  Lorenza ; the  second,  the 
fear  that  she  might  be  fatigued,  for  in  the  new  life  he  had 
given  her  there  was  no  room  for  ennui . She  might  be 
fatigued,  inasmuch  as  she  might  pass,  as  she  sometimes 
did,  from  the  magnetic  sleep  to  ecstasy ; and  to  this  ec- 
static state  always  succeeded  those  nervous  crises  which 
prostrated  Lorenza’s  strength,  if  a new  supply  of  the  re- 
generating fluid  did  not  restore  the  necessary  equilibrium 
among  the  various  functions  of  her  organization. 

Balsamo,  then,  having  entered  and  closed  the  door,  im- 
mediately glanced  at  the  couch  where  he  had  left  Lorenza. 
She  was  no  longer  there.  Only  the  fine  shawl  of  cash- 
mere  embroidered  with  golden  flowers,  which  had  envel- 
oped her  like  a scarf,  was  still  lying  upon  the  cushions,  as 
an  evidence  that  she  had  been  in  the  room  and  had  been 
reclining  on  them. 

Balsamo  stood  motionless,  gazing  at  the  empty  sofa. 
Perhaps  Lorenza  had  felt  herself  incommoded  by  a strange 
odor  which  seemed  to  have  filled  the  room  since  he  left 
it ; perhaps,  by  a mechanical  movement,  she  had  usurped 
some  of  the  functions  of  actual  life,  and  instinctively 
changed  her  place. 


294 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Balsamo’s  first  idea  was  that  Lorenza  had  returned  to 
the  laboratory,  whither  she  had  accompanied  him  a short 
time  previously.  He  entered  the  laboratory.  At  the  first 
glance  it  seemed  empty  ; but  in  the  shadow  of  the  gigan- 
tic furnace,  or  behind  the  Oriental  tapestry,  a woman  could 
easily  conceal  herself.  He  raised  the  tapestry,  therefore ; 
he  made  the  circuit  of  the  furnace  ; nowhere  could  he  dis- 
cover even  a trace  of  Lorenza.  There  remained  only  the 
young  girl’s  chamber,  to  which  she  had,  no  doubt,  re- 
turned ; for  this  chamber  was  a prison  to  her  only  in  her 
waking  state.  He  hastened  to  the  chamber,  and  found 
the  secret  door  closed.  This  was  no  proof  that  Lorenza 
had  not  entered.  Nothing  was  more  probable,  in  fact, 
than  that  Lorenza,  in  her  lucid  sleep,  had  remembered  the 
mechanism,  and  remembering  it,  had  obeyed  the  halluci- 
nation of  a dream  barely  effaced  from  her  mind.  Balsamo 
pressed  the  spring.  The  chamber  was  empty,  like  the 
laboratory;  it  did  not  appear  as  if  Lorenza  had  even 
entered  it. 

Then  a heart-rending  thought  — a thought  which,  it 
will  be  remembered,  had  already  stung  his  heart  — chased 
away  all  the  suppositions,  all  the  hopes  of  the  happy  lover. 
Lorenza  had  been  playing  a part ; she  must  have  feigned 
to  sleep  in  order  to  banish  all  distrust,  all  uneasiness,  all 
watchfulness  from  her  husband’s  mind;  and  at  the  first 
opportunity  had  fled  again,  this  time  with  surer  precau- 
tions, warned  as  she  had  been  by  a first,  or  rather  by  two 
former  experiences. 

At  this  idea  Balsamo  started  up  and  rang  for  Fritz. 
Then,  as  Fritz,  to  his  impatient  mind,  seemed  to  delay,  he 
hastened  to  meet  him,  and  found  him  on  the  secret 
staircase.  “ The  signora  i ” said  he. 

“Well,  Master  1”  said  Fritz,  seeing  by  Balsamo’s  agita- 
tion that  something  extraordinary  had  taken  place. 


BLOOD. 


295 


“ Have  you  seen  her? 99 
“No,  Master.” 

“ She  has  not  gone  ? 99 
“ From  where  1 ” * 

“ From  this  house,  to  be  sure  ! ” 

“ No  one  has  left  the  house  hut  the  countess,  behind 
whom  I have  just  closed  the  gate.” 

Balsamo  rushed  up  the  stairs  again  like  a madman.  Then 
he  fancied  that  the  giddy  young  creature,  so  different  in  her 
sleep  from  what  she  was  when  waking,  had  concealed  her- 
self in  a moment  of  childish  playfulness ; that  from  the  cor- 
ner where  she  was  hid  she  was  now  reading  his  heart,  and 
amusing  herself  by  terrifying  him,  in  order  to  reassure  him 
afterward.  Then  he  began  a minute  search.  Not  a nook 
was  omitted,  not  a closet  forgotten,  not  a screen  left  in  its 
proper  place.  There  was  something  in  this  search  of  Bal- 
samo’s  like  the  frantic  efforts  of  a man  blinded  by  passion, 
alternating  with  the  feeble  and  tottering  gait  of  a drunk- 
ard. He  could  then  only  stretch  out  his  arms  and  cry, 
“ Lorenza,  Lorenza ! ” hoping  that  the  adored  creature 
would  rush  forth  suddenly,  and  throw  herself  into  his 
arms  with  an  exclamation  of  joy.  But  silence  alone,  a 
gloomy  and  uninterrupted  silence,  replied  to  his  extrava- 
gant thoughts  and  mad  appeals. 

In  running  wildly  about,  dashing  aside  the  furniture, 
shouting  to  the  naked  walls,  calling  Lorenza,  staring  with- 
out seeing  any  object  or  forming  a single  coherent  thought, 
Balsamo  passed  three  minutes  — that  is  to  say,  three  cen- 
turies — of  agony. 

He  recovered  by  degrees  from  this  half-insane  hallucina- 
tion, dipped  his  hand  in  a vase  of  iced  water,  moistened 
his  temples,  and  pressing  one  hand  in  the  other,  as  if  to 
force  himself  to  be  cool,  he  chased  back  by  his  iron  will 
the  blood  which  was  beating  wildly  against  his  brain,  with 


296 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


that  fatal,  incessant,  monotonous  movement  which  indi- 
cates life  when  there  is  merely  motion  and  silence,  but 
which  is  a sign  of  death  or  madness  when  it  becomes 
tumultuous  and  perceptible. 

“ Come ! ” said  he,  “ let  me  reason.  Lorenza  is  not 
here,  — no  more  false  pretences  with  myself.  Lorenza 
is  not  her6  ; she  must  be  gone,  — yes,  gone,  quite  gone  ! ” 
And  he  looked  around  once  more,  and  once  more  shouted 
her  name.  “ Gone  ! ” he  continued.  “ In  vain  Fritz  as- 
serts that  he  has  not  seen  her.  She  is  gone, — gone! 
Two  cases  present  themselves  : Either  he  has  not  seen 
Lorenza,  — and,  after  all,  that  is  possible,  for  man  is  liable 
to  error,  — or  he  has  seen  her,  and  has  been  bribed  by  her. 
Fritz  bribed  ! Why  not?  In  vain  does  his  past  fidelity 
plead  against  this  supposition.  If  Lorenza,  if  love,  if  sci- 
ence, could  so  deeply  deceive  and  lie,  why  should  the  frail 
nature  of  a fallible  human  being  not  deceive  also  ? Oh,  I 
will  know  all ! I will  know  all  ! Is  there  not  Mademoi- 
selle de  Taverney  left  ? Yes,  through  Andree  I shall  know 
if  Fritz  has  betrayed  me,  if  Lorenza  is  false  ! And  this 
time,  — oh  ! this  time  as  love  has  proved  false,  as  science 
has  proved  an  error,  as  fidelity  has  become  a snare,  — oh  ! 
this  time  Balsamo  will  punish  without  pity,  without  spar- 
ing, like  a strong  man  who  revenges  himself,  who  chases 
pity  from  his  heart,  and  keeps  only  pride.  Let  me  see ; 
the  first  step  is  to  leave  this  as  quickly  as  possible,  not  to 
let  Fritz  suspect  anything,  and  to  fly  to  Trianon.” 

Balsamo,  seizing  his  hat,  which  had  rolled  on  the  floor, 
rushed  toward  the  door.  But  suddenly  he  stopped. 
“ Oh  ! ” said  he,  ‘‘before  anything  else — my  God  ! poor 
old  man,  I had  forgotten  him  — I must  see  Althotas. 
During  my  delirium,  during  this  spasm  of  forced  and  un- 
natural love,  I have  neglected  the  unfortunate  old  man ; I 
have  been  ungrateful  and  inhuman  !” 


BLOOD. 


297 


And,  with  the  feverishness  which  now  animated  all  his 
movements,  Balsamo  approached  the  spring  which  put  in 
motion  the  trap  in  the  ceiling,  and  the  movable  scalfold 
quickly  descended.  He  placed  himself  upon  it,  and, 
aided  by  the  counterpoise,  mounted  again,  still  over- 
whelmed by  the  anguish  of  his  mind  and  heart,  and 
without  thinking  of  anything  but  Lorenza.  Scarcely  had 
he  attained  the  level  of  the  floor,  when  the  voice  of  Altho- 
tas  struck  upon  his  ear,  and  roused  him  from  his  gloomy 
revery. 

But,  to  Balsamous  great  astonishment,  the  old  man’s 
first  words  were  not  reproaches,  as  he  had  expected ; he 
was  received  with  an  outburst  of  simple  and  natural 
gayety.  The  pupil  looked  with  an  astonished  gaze  upon 
his  master. 

The  old  man  was  reclining  upon  his  spring-chair.  He 
breathed  noisily  and  with  delight,  as  if  at  each  inspiration 
he  added  a day  to  his  life ; his  eyes,  full  of  a gloomy  fire, 
but  the  expression  of  which  was  enlivened  by  the  smile 
upon  his  lips,  were  fixed  eagerly  upon  his  visitor. 

Balsamo  summoned  up  all  his  strength  and  collected 
his  ideas,  in  order  to  conceal  his  grief  from  his  master, 
who  had  so  little  indulgence  for  human  weaknesses. 
During  this  moment  of  reflection  he  felt  a strange  op- 
pression weigh  upon  his  breast.  No  doubt  the  air  was 
vitiated  by  being  too  constantly  breathed,  for  a heavy, 
dull,  close,  nauseous  odor,  like  the  one  he  had  already 
noticed  below,  but  there  in  a slighter  degree,  floated  in 
the  air,  and  like  the  vapors  which  rise  from  lakes  and 
marshes  in  autumn  at  sunrise  and  sunset,  had  taken  sub- 
stance and  rested  on  the  windows. 

In  this  dense  and  acrid  atmosphere  Balsamo’s  heart 
throbbed,  his  head  felt  confused,  a vertigo  seized  upon 
him,  and  he  felt  that  respiration  and  strength  were  fast 


298 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


failing  him.  “ Master/7  said  he,  seeking  some  object  on 
which  to  support  himself,  and  endeavoring  to  dilate  his 
lungs,  — “ Master,  you  cannot  live  here ; there  is  no 
air.” 

“ You  think  so  ? 77 
“ Oh ! 77 

“ Nevertheless,  I breathe  very  well  in  it/7  replied 
Althotas,  gayly,  “ and  I live  as  you  see ! 77 

“ Master,  Master ! 77  replied  Balsamo,  growing  more  and 
more  giddy,  “ let  me  open  a window  ! It  rises  from 
the  floor  like  an  exhalation  of  blood ! 77 

“Of  blood!  Ah!  you  think  sol  Of  blood?77  cried 
Althotas,  bursting  into  a laugh. 

“ Oh,  yes,  yes ; I feel  the  miasma  which  is  exhaled 
from  a newly  killed  body.  I could  weigh  it,  so  heavily 
does  it  press  upon  my  brain  and  heart.77 

“ That  is  it ; 77  said  Althotas,  with  his  sardonic  laugh,  — 
“ that  is  it ; I also  perceived  it.  You  have  a tender  heart 
and  a weak  brain,  Acharat.77 

“ Master/7  said  Balsamo,  pointing  with  his  finger  at  the 
old  man,  — “Master,  you  have  blood  upon  your  hands; 
Master,  there  is  blood  upon  this  table ; there  is  blood 
everywhere,  even  in  your  eyes,  which  shine  like  two 
torches ; Master,  the  smell  which  I breathe,  and  which 
makes  me  giddy,  which  is  suffocating  me,  is  the  smell  of 
blood! 77 

“Well,  what  then?”  said  Althotas,  quickly;  “is  this 
the  first  time  in  your  life  that  you  have  smelt  it  ? 77 

“ No.77 

“ Have  you  never  seen  me  make  experiments  ? Have 
you  never  made  any  yourself?77 

“ But  human  blood  ! 77  said  Balsamo,  pressing  his  hand 
upon  his  burning  forehead. 

“ Ah  ! you  have  a subtle  sense  of  smell/7  said  AlthotaSc 


BLOOD. 


299 


“Well,  I did  not  think  human  blood  could  be  distin- 
guished from  that  of  any  other  animal.” 

“ Human  blood ! ” muttered  Balsamo.  And  as  he 
reeled  backward  and  felt  for  some  projecting  point  to 
support  him,  he  perceived  with  horror  a vast  copper  basin, 
the  shining  sides  of  which  reflected  the  purple  color  of  the 
freshly  spilled  blood.  The  enormous  vase  was  half-filled. 

Balsamo  started  back,  terrified.  “ Oh,  this  blood  ! ” he 
exclaimed  ; “ whence  comes  this  blood  1 ” 

Althotas  made  no  reply,  but  his  watchful  eyes  lost 
nothing  of  Balsamo’s  suspicion,  bewilderment,  and  terror. 
Suddenly  the  latter  uttered  a terrible  roar.  Then,  stoop- 
ing like  some  wild  beast  darting  upon  its  prey,  he  rushed 
to  a corner  of  the  room  and  picked  up  from  the  floor  a 
silken  ribbon  embroidered  with  silver,  to  which  was 
hanging  a long  tress  of  black  hair. 

After  that  wild,  mournful,  terrible  cry,  a deathlike 
silence  reigned  for  a moment  in  the  old  man’s  apartment. 
Balsamo  slowly  raised  the  ribbon,  shuddered  as  he  exam- 
ined the  tresses  which  a golden  pin  fastened  to  the  silk  at 
one  end,  while,  cut  off  sharply  at  the  other,  they  seemed 
like  a fringe  the  end  of  which  had  been  dipped  in  a wave 
of  blood,  the  red  and  sparkling  drops  of  which  were  still 
apparent  on  the  edge. 

In  proportion  as  Balsamo  raised  his  hand,  it  trembled 
still  more.  As  he  looked  more  intently  at  the  ribbon,  his 
cheeks  became  more  livid.  “ Whence  does  this  come  1 ” 
murmured  he,  in  a hollow  voice,  loud  enough,  however,  for 
another  to  hear  and  to  reply  to  his  question. 

“ That  1 ” asked  Althotas. 

“Yes,  that.” 

“ Well ! it  is  a silken  ribbon  tying  some  hair.” 

“ But  the  hair,  — in  what  is  it  steeped  ” 

“ You  can  see,  — in  blood.” 


300 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ In  what  blood  ? ” 

“ Parbleu  / in  the  blood  I wanted  for  my  elixir,  — in  the 
blood  which  you  refused  me,  and  which,  therefore,  I was 
forced  to  procure  for  myself.” 

“ But  this  hair,  these  tresses,  this  ribbon,  — from  whom 
did  you  take  them  ? This  is  not  a child’s  hair.” 

“ And  who  told  you  it  was  a child  I had  killed  ? ” 
asked  Althotas,  quietly. 

“ Did  you  not  want  the  blood  of  a child  for  your 
elixir  V*  said  Balsamo.  “ Did  you  not  tell  me  so?” 

“ Or  of  a virgin,  Acharat,  — or  of  a virgin.”  And 
Althotas  stretched  his  long,  bony  hand  from  the  chair, 
and  took  a phial,  the  contents  of  which  he  tasted  with 
delight.  Then,  in  his  most  natural  tone  and  with  his 
most  affectionate  smile,  “ I have  to  thank  you,  Acharat,” 
said  he ; “ you  were  wise  and  far-sighted  in  placing  that 
woman  beneath  my  trap,  almost  within  reach  of  my  hand. 
Humanity  has  no  cause  for  complaint.  The  law  has 
nothing  to  lay  hold  upon.  He,  he  ! — it  was  not  you 
who  gave  me  the  young  creature  without  whom  I should 
have  perished.  Noll  took  her.  He,  he  ! — thanks,  my 
dear  pupil ! thanks,  my  dear  Acharat ! ” And  he  once 
more  put  the  phial  to  his  lips. 

Balsamo  let  fall  the  tress  of  hair  which  he  held ; a hor- 
rible light  dazzled  his  eyes.  Opposite  to  him  was  the  old 
man’s  table,  — a large  marble  slab  always  heaped  with 
plants,  books,  and  phials.  This  table  was  covered  with  a 
long  cloth  of  white  damask  with  dark  flowers,  on  which 
the  lamp  of  Althotas  shed  a reddish  light,  and  which  dis- 
played an  ominous  outline  which  Balsamo  had  not  before 
remarked.  He  seized  a corner  of  the  cloth  and  hastily 
pulled  it  away.  But  instantly  his  hair  stood  on  end ; his 
gaping  mouth  could  not  utter  the  horrible  cry  which 
almost  suffocated  him. 


BLOOD. 


301 


Under  this  shroud  Balsamo  had  perceived  Lorenza’s 
corpse  stretched  upon  the  table,  her  face  livid  and  yet 
smiling,  and  her  head  hanging  backward  as  if  dragged 
down  by  the  weight  of  her  long  hair. 

A large  wound  gaped  underneath  the  collar-bone,  from 
which  not  a single  drop  of  blood  escaped.  Her  hands 
were  rigid,  and  her  eyes  closed  beneath  their  purple 
eyelids. 

“ Yes,  blood  ! the  last  three  drops  of  a virgin’s  blood,  — 
that  is  what  I wanted,”  said  the  old  man,  putting  the 
phial  to  his  lips  for  the  third  time. 

“ Wretch!”  thundered  Balsamo,  whose  cry  of  despair 
at  last  burst  from  each  pore,  “ die,  then,  for  in  the  last 
four  days  she  has  been  my  mistress,  my  love,  my  wife  ! 
You  have  murdered  her  in  vain  ! She  was  not  a virgin.” 

The  eyes  of  Althotas  quivered  at  these  words  as  if  an 
electric  shock  had  made  them  dance  in  their  orbits ; his 
pupils  were  fearfully  dilated,  his  toothless  gums  chattered, 
the  phial  fell  from  his  hand  upon  the  floor  and  broke  into 
a thousand  pieces,  while  he,  stupefied,  annihilated,  stricken 
at  once  in  heart  and  brain,  fell  back  heavily  upon  his 
chair. 

Balsamo  bent  with  a sob  over  Lorenza’s  body,  and 
pressing  his  lips  to  her  blood-stained  hair,  sank  senseless 
on  the  floor. 


302 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

DESPAIR. 

The  Hours,  those  mysterious  sisters,  who  cleave  the  air 
hand-in-hand  with  a flight  so  slow  for  the  wretched,  so 
rapid  for  the  happy,  paused  in  their  onward  motion,  fold- 
ing their  heavy  wings  over  this  chamber  filled  with  sighs 
and  groans.  Death  on  one  side,  agony  on  the  other,  and 
between  them  despair,  — grievous  as  agony,  deep  as  death. 

Balsamo  had  not  uttered  a word  since  the  terrible  cry 
which  had  been  wrung  from  his  breast.  Since  the  terri- 
ble revelation  which  had  cast  down  the  ferocious  joy  of 
Althotas,  he  had  not  moved. 

As  for  the  hideous  old  man,  thus  violently  thrown  back 
into  life  such  as  God  grants  to  man,  he  seemed  as  much 
bewildered  in  this  new  element  as  the  bird  struck  by  a 
leaden  bullet  and  fallen  from  the  skies  into  a lake,  on 
whose  surface  it  flutters,  unable  to  employ  its  wings.  The 
horror  expressed  in  his  pale  and  agonized  features  revealed 
the  immeasurable  extent  of  his  disappointment. 

In  fact,  Althotas  no  longer  even  took  the  trouble  to 
think,  since  he  had  seen  the  goal  at  which  his  spirit 
aimed,  and  which  he  had  thought  firm  as  a rock,  vanish 
like  empty  vapor.  His  deep  and  silent  despair  seemed 
almost  like  insensibility.  To  a mind  unaccustomed  to 
measure  his,  it  might  have  seemed  an  indication  of  re- 
flection ; to  Balsamo,  who  however  did  not  even  look 
upon  him,  it  marked  the  death-agony  of  power,  of  reason, 
and  of  life. 


DESPAIR. 


303 


Althotas  fixed  his  gaze  upon  the  broken  phial,  — the 
image  of  the  nothingness  of  his  hopes.  One  would  have 
said  he  counted  the  thousand  scattered  fragments,  which, 
in  falling,  had  diminished  his  life  by  so  many  days.  One 
would  have  said  he  wished  to  drink  in  with  his  look  the 
precious  fluid  which  was  spilled  upon  the  floor,  and  which 
for  a moment  he  had  believed  to  be  immortality. 

At  times,  also,  when  the  grief  of  this  disenchantment 
was  too  poignant,  the  old  man  raised  his  dull  eyes  to 
Balsamo,  then  from  Balsamo  his  glance  wandered  to  Lo- 
renza’s  corpse.  He  resembled  at  these  moments  those 
savage  animals  which  the  huutsman  finds  in  the  morning 
caught  in  the  trap  by  the  leg,  and  which  he  stirs  for  a 
long  time  with  his  foot  without  making  them  turn  their 
heads,  but  which,  when  he  pricks  them  with  his  hunting- 
knife,  or  with  the  bayonet  of  his  fowling-piece,  obliquely 
raise  their  bloodshot  eyes,  throwing  on  him  a look  of 
hatred,  vengeance,  reproach,  and  surprise. 

“ Is  it  possible,”  said  this  look,  so  expressive  even  in 
its  atony,  — “ is  it  credible,  that  so  many  misfortunes,  so 
many  shocks,  should  overwhelm  me,  caused  by  such  an 
insignificant  being  as  the  man  I see  kneeling  there  a few 
yards  from  me,  at  the  feet  of  such  a vulgar  object  as  that 
dead  woman  ] Is  it  not  a reversion  of  Nature,  an  over- 
turning of  science,  a cataclysm  of  reason,  that  the  pupil 
so  gross  should  have  deceived  the  master  so  sublime  1 
Is  it  not  monstrous  that  the  grain  of  sand  should  have 
arrested  the  wheel  of  the  superb  chariot,  so  rapid  in  its 
all-powerful,  its  immortal  flight  ? ” 

As  for  Balsamo,  stunned,-  heart-broken,  without  voice 
or  motion,  almost  without  life,  no  human  thought  had  yet 
dawned  amid  the  dark  vapors  of  his  brain. 

Lorenza,  his  Lorenza  ! His  wife,  his  idol,  doubly  pre- 
cious to  him  as  his  revealing  angel  and  his  love,  — Lorenza, 


304 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


his  delight  and  his  glory,  the  present  and  the  future,  his 
strength  and  faith  ; Lorenza,  all  he  loved,  all  he  wished 
for,  all  he  looked  forward  to  in  this  world,  — Lorenza  was 
lost  to  him  forever ! 

He  did  not  weep,  he  did  not  groan,  he  did  not  even 
sigh.  He  hardly  had  time  as  yet  for  astonishment  that 
so  frightful  a calamity  had  fallen  upon  him.  He  was  like 
those  unfortunates  whom  an  inundation  seizes  in  their 
bed,  in  the  midst  of  darkness.  They  dream  that  the 
water  gains  upon  them  ; they  awake,  they  open  their  eyes 
and  see  a roaring  billow  breaking  over  their  heads,  and 
have  not  even  time  to  utter  a cry  in  their  passage  from 
life  to  death. 

For  a long  time  Balsamo  felt  himself  buried  in  the 
deepest  abyss  of  the  tomb.  In  his  overwhelming  grief, 
he  looked  upon  what  had  happened  to  him  as  one  of  the 
dark  dreams  which  torment  the  dead  in  the  eternal  silent 
night  of  the  sepulchre.  For  him  there  was  no  more  Al- 
thotas,  — that  is  to  say,  no  more  hate,  no  more  revenge. 
For  him  there  was  no  more  Lorenza,  — that  is  to  say,  no 
more  life,  no  more  love.  All  was  sleep,  night,  nothing- 
ness! Thus  the  minutes  glided  past,  gloomily,  silently, 
heavily,  in  this  chamber  where  the  blood  congealed  and 
the  lifeless  form  grew  rigid. 

Suddenly,  amid  the  death-like  silence,  a bell  sounded 
three  times.  Fritz,  doubtless,  was  aware  that  his  master 
was  with  Althotas,  for  the  bell  sounded  in  the  room  itself. 
But  in  vain  it  sounded  three  time,  with  an  insolently 
strange  noise ; the  sound  died  away  in  space.  Balsamo 
did  not  raise  his  head. 

In  a few  moments  the  same  ringing,  only  louder  this 
time,  sounded  again  ; but,  like  the  first,  it  could  not  rouse 
Balsamo  from  his  torpor.  Then,  at  a measured  interval, 
but  not  so  far  from  the  second  as  that  had  been  from  the 


DESPAIR. 


305 


first,  the  angry  bell  a third  time  made  the  room  resound 
with  multiplied  echoes  of  its  wailing  and  impatient  sounds. 

Balsamo  did  not  start,  but  slowly  raised  his  head  and 
interrogated  the  empty  space  before  him  with  the  cold 
solemnity  of  a corpse  rising  from  the  tomb.  So  must 
Lazarus  have  looked  when  the  voice  of  Christ  called  him 
three  times.  The  bell  continued  ringing.  Its  increasing 
energy  aroused  at  last  the  intelligence  of  Lorenza’s  lover. 
He  withdrew  his  hand  from  that  of  the  corpse.  All  the 
heat  had  left  his  body,  without  passing  into  that  of 
Lorenza. 

“ Some  important  news  or  some  great  danger,”  muttered 
Balsamo  to  himself.  “May  it  prove  a great  danger!” 
And  he  rose  to  his  feet.  “ But  why  should  I reply  to  this 
summons  h ” he  continued  aloud,  without  heeding  the 
gloomy  sound  of  his  words  echoing  beneath  the  sombre 
vault  of  this  funereal  chamber;  “can  anything  in  this 
world  henceforth  interest  or  alarm  me  ? ” 

Then,  as  if  in  reply,  the  bell  struck  its  iron  tongue  so 
rudely  against  its  brazen  sides  that  the  clapper  broke  and 
fell  upon  a glass  retort,  which  flew  in  pieces  with  a metal- 
lic sound,  and  scattered  its  fragments  upon  the  floor. 
Balsamo  resisted  no  longer ; besides,  it  was  important  that 
none,  not  even  Fritz,  should  come  to  seek  him  where  he 
was.  He  walked,  therefore,  with  steady  step  to  the  spring, 
pressed  it,  and  placed  himself  upon  the  trap,  which  de- 
scended slowly  and  deposited  him  in  the  chamber  of  furs. 
As  he  passed  the  sofa,  he  brushed  against  the  scarf  which 
had  fallen  from  Lorenzos  shoulders  wrhen  the  pitiless  old 
man,  impassive  as  death  itself,  had  carried  her  off  in  his 
arms. 

This  contact,  more  living  seemingly  than  Lorenza  her- 
self, sent  an  icy  shudder  through  Balsamo’s  veins.  He 
took  the  scarf  and  kissed  it,  using  it  to  stifle  the  cries 


306 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


which  burst  from  his  heaving  breast.  Then  he  proceeded 
to  open  the  door  of  the  staircase. 

On  the  topmost  steps  stood  Fritz,  all  pale  and  breathless, 
holding  a torch  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other  the  cord  of 
the  bell,  which,  in  his  terror  and  impatience,  he  continued 
to  pull  convulsively.  On  seeing  his  master,  he  uttered  a 
cry  of  satisfaction,  and  then  a cry  of  surprise  and  fear. 
But  Balsamo,  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  this  double  cry, 
replied  only  by  a mute  interrogation. 

Fritz  did  not  speak,  but  he  ventured  — he,  usually  so 
respectful  — to  take  his  master’s  hand,  and  led  him  to  the 
large  Venetian  mirror  that  ornamented  the  mantelpiece  at 
the  back  of  which  was  the  passage  into  Lorenza’s  apart- 
ment. “ Oh,  look,  your  Excellency  ! ” said  he,  showing 
him  his  own  image  in  the  glass. 

Balsamo  shuddered.  Then  a smile — one  of  those 
smiles  which  spring  from  infinite  and  incurable  grief,  a 
deathly  smile  — flitted  over  his  lips.  He  had  under- 
stood the  cause  of  Fritz’s  alarm.  Balsamo  had  grown 
twenty  years  older  in  an  hour.  There  was  no  more 
brightness  in  his  eyes,  no  more  color  in  his  cheek;  an 
expression  of  dulness  and  stupefaction  overspread  his  fea- 
tures ; a bloody  foam  fringed  his  lips ; a large  spot  of 
blood  stained  the  whiteness  of  his  cambric  shirt. 

Balsamo  looked  at  himself  in  the  glass  for  a moment 
without  being  able  to  recognize  himself,  then  he  deter- 
minedly fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  strange  person  reflected  in 
the  mirror.  “ Yes,  Fritz,”  said  he,  “ you  are  right.” 
Then,  remarking  the  anxious  look  of  his  faithful  servant, 
“ But  why  did  you  call  me  1 ” he  asked. 

“ Oh  ! Master,  for  them” 

“ For  them  V9 

“ Yes.” 

u Whom  do  you  mean  by  them  ? ” 


DESPAIR. 


307 


“ Excellency/1  whispered  Fritz,  putting  his  mouth  close 
to  his  master’s  ear,  “ the  Five  Masters.” 

Balsamo  shuddered.  “ All  1 ” he  asked. 

“ Yes,  all.” 

“ And  they  are  here  ? ” 

“ Here.”  * 

“ Alone  1 ” 

“ No ; each  has  an  armed  servant  waiting  in  the  court- 
yard.” 

“ They  came  together  ? ” 

“ Yes,  Master,  together,  and  they  are  impatient ; that  is 
why  I rang  so  many  times  and  so  violently.” 

Balsamo,  without  even  concealing  the  spot  of  blood  be- 
neath the  folds  of  his  frill,  without  attempting  to  repair 
the  disorder  of  his  dress,  began  to  descend  the  stairs,  after 
having  asked  Fritz  if  his  guests  had  installed  themselves  in 
the  salon  or  in  the  great  cabinet. 

“ In  the  salon,  Excellency,”  replied  Fritz,  following  his 
master.  Then  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  venturing  to  stop 
Balsamo,  he  asked  : “ Has  your  Excellency  no  orders  to 
give  me  ] ” 

“ Hone,  Fritz.” 

“ Excellency  — ” stammered  Fritz. 

"Weill”  asked  Balsamo,  with  infinite  gentleness. 

“ Will  your  Excellency  go  unarmed  1 ” 

“ Unarmed'?  yes.” 

“ Even  without  your  sword  ? ” 

“ And  why  should  I take  my  sword,  Fritz  1 ” 

“ I do  not  know,”  said  the  faithful  servant,  casting  down 
his  eyes,  “ but  I thought  — I believed  — I feared  — ” 

“ It  is  well,  Fritz ; you  may  go.” 

Fritz  moved  away  a few  steps  in  obedience  to  the  order 
he  had  received,  hut  returned. 

“ Did  you  not  hear  ? ” asked  Balsamo. 


308 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“Excellency,  I merely  wished  to  tell  you  that  your 
double-barrelled  pistols  are  in  the  ebony  case  upon  the  gilt 
stand.” 

ci  Go,  I tell  you  ! ” replied  Balsamo.  And  he  entered 
the  salon. 


THE  JUDGMENT. 


309 


CHAPTEE  XXXIII. 

THE  JUDGMENT. 

Fritz  was  quite  right ; Balsamo’s  guests  had  not  entered 
the  Kue  Saint  Claude  with  a pacific  display  nor  with  a 
benevolent  exterior.  Five  horsemen  escorted  the  travel- 
ling carriage  in  which  the  Masters  had  come ; five  men 
with  a haughty  and  sombre  mien,  armed  to  the  teeth,  had 
closed  the  outer  gate  and  were  guarding  it  while  appearing 
to  await  their  masters’  return. 

A coachman  and  two  footmen  on  the  carriage  seat  con- 
cealed under  their  overcoats  each  a small  hanger  and  a 
musket.  It  was  rather  on  an  expedition  than  on  a visit 
that  so  many  persons  had  come  to  the  Eue  Saint  Claude. 
And  therefore  the  nocturnal  invasion  of  these  terrible  men, 
whom  Fritz  had  recognized,  the  forcible  taking  possession 
of  the  hotel,  had  inspired  the  German  with  an  unspeak- 
able terror.  He  had  at  first  attempted  to  refuse  entrance 
to  the  whole  party,  when  he  had  seen  the  escort  through 
the  wicket,  and  had  suspected  them  to  be  armed  ; but  the 
all-powerful  signals  they  had  used  — that  irresistible  tes- 
timony of  the  right  of  the  new-comers  — had  left  him  no 
option. 

As  soon  as  they  were  masters  of  the  place,  the  strangers, 
like  skilful  generals,  posted  themselves  at  each  outlet  of 
the  house,  taking  no  pains  to  dissemble  their  hostile 
intentions.  The  pretended  valets  in  the  courtyard  and  in 
the  passages,  the  pretended  masters  in  the  salon,  seemed 
to  Fritz  to  bode  no  good ; and  that  was  why  he  had 
broken  the  bell. 


310 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Balsamo,  without  displaying  any  astonishment,  without 
making  any  preparation,  entered  the  room,  which  Fritz,  to 
do  proper  honor  to  all  visitors,  had  lighted  up  as  usual. 
He  saw,  seated  in  armchairs,  the  five  visitors,  of  whom  not 
one  rose  when  he  entered.  He,  as  master  of  the  house, 
having  looked  at  them,  bowed  politely ; then  only  did 
they  rise  and  gravely  return  his  salute. 

Balsamo  took  a chair  in  front  of  them,  without  noticing 
or  seeming  to  notice  the  strange  order  of  their  position. 
In  fact,  the  five  armchairs  formed  a semicircle  like  those 
of  the  ancient  tribunals,  with  a president,  supported  by 
two  assistants,  and  with  Balsamo’s  chair  placed  in  front  of 
that  of  the  president,  and  occupying  the  place  accorded  to 
the  accused  in  a council  or  praetorium. 

Balsamo  did  not  speak  first,  as  in  other  circumstances 
he  would  have  done  ; he  looked  around  without  seeing 
any  object  clearly, — still  affected  by  a kind  of  painful 
drowsiness,  which  had  remained  after  the  shock. 

“It  seems,  Brother,  that  you  have  understood  our 
errand,”  said  the  president,  or  rather  he  who  occupied  the 
centre  seat ; “ yet  you  delayed  to  come,  and  we  were 
already  deliberating  if  we  should  send  to  seek  you.” 

“ I do  not  understand  your  errand,”  said  Balsamo,  calmly. 
“ I should  not  have  imagined  so,  from  seeing  you  take 
the  position  and  attitude  of  an  accused  before  us.” 

“ An  accused  ? ” stammered  Balsamo,  vacantly,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders.  “ I do  not  understand  you.” 

“We  will  soon  make  you  understand  us.  Not  a diffi- 
cult task,  if  I may  believe  your  pale  cheeks,  your  vacant 
eyes,  and  trembling  voice.  One  would  think  you  did  not 
hear.” 

“ Oh,  yes ; I hear,”  replied  Balsamo,  shaking  his  head, 
as  if  to  banish  the  thoughts  which  oppressed  it. 

“ Do  you  remember,  Brother,”  continued  the  president, 


THE  JUDGMENT. 


311 


“that  in  its  last  communication  the  superior  committee 
warned  you  against  a treasonable  attempt  meditated  by 
one  of  the  great  ones  of  the  order  1 ” 

“ Perhaps  so  — yes  — I do  not  deny  it.” 

“ You  reply  as  a disordered  and  troubled  conscience 
might  be  expected  to  do ; but  rouse  yourself.  Be  not 
cast  down  ; reply  with  that  clearness  and  precision  which 
your  terrible  position  requires.  Reply  to  my  questions 
with  the  certainty  that  we  are  open  to  conviction,  for  we 
have  neither  prejudice  nor  hatred  in  this  matter.  We  are 
the  law  ; it  does  not  pronounce  a verdict  until  the  evi- 
dence is  heard.” 

Balsamo  made  no  reply. 

“ I repeat  it,  Balsamo,  and  my  warning  once  given,  let 
it  be  to  you  like  the  warning  which  combatants  give  to 
each  other  before  beginning  their  struggle.  I will  attack 
you  with  just  but  powerful  weapons  ; defend  yourself!  ” 
The  assistants,  seeing  Balsamo’s  indifference  and  imper- 
turbable demeanor,  looked  at  each  other  with  astonishment, 
and  then  again  turned  their  eyes  upon  the  president. 

“You  have  heard  me,  Balsamo,  have  you  not]”  re- 
peated the  latter. 

Balsamo  made  a sign  of  the  head  in  the  affirmative. 

“ Like  a well-meaning  and  loyal  brother,  I have  warned 
you,  and  given  you  a hint  of  the  aim  of  my  questionings. 
You  are  warned,  guard  yourself;  I am  about  to  begin 
again.” 

“After  this  announcement,”  continued  the  president, 
“ the  association  appointed  five  of  its  members  to  watch  in 
Paris  the  proceedings  of  the  man  who  was  pointed  out  to 
us  as  a traitor.  Now  our  revelations  are  not  subject  to  error. 
We  gather  them,  as  you  yourself  know,  either  from  devoted 
agents,  from  the  aspect  of  events,  or  from  infallible  indi- 
cations and  signs  among  the  mysterious  combinations 


<312 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


which  Nature  has  as  yet  revealed  to  us  alone.  Now  one 
of  us  had  a vision  respecting  you ; we  know  that  he  has 
never  been  deceived,  we  were  upon  our  guard,  and  watched 
you” 

Balsamo  listened  without  giving  the  least  sign  of  impa- 
tience or  even  of  intelligence.  The  president  continued : 

“ It  was  not  an  easy  task  to  watch  a man  such  as  you. 
You  enter  everywhere ; your  mission  is  to  have  a footing 
wherever  our  enemies  have  a residence  or  any  power  what- 
ever. You  have  at  your  disposal  all  your  natural  resources 
— which  are  immense  — and  those  which  the  association 
intrusts  to  you  to  make  its  cause  triumphant.  For  a long 
time  we  hovered  in  a sea  of  doubt  when  we  saw  enemies 
visit  you,  such  as  a Richelieu,  a Dubarry,  a Rohan. 
Moreover,  at  the  last  assembly  in  the  Rue  Plastrikre,  you 
made  a long  speech  full  of  clever  paradoxes,  which  led  us 
to  imagine  that  you  were  playing  a part  in  flattering  and 
associating  with  this  incorrigible  race,  which  it  is  our  duty 
to  exterminate  from  the  face  of  the  earth.  For  a long 
time  we  respected  the  mystery  of  your  behavior,  hoping 
for  a happy  result ; but  at  last  the  illusion  was  dispelled.” 
Balsamo  retained  his  motionless,  impassive  demeanor, 
insomuch  that  the  president  became  impatient. 

“ Three  days  ago,”  said  he,  “ five  lettres-de-cachet  were 
issued.  They  had  been  demanded  from  the  king  by  Mon- 
sieur de  Sartines;  they  were  filled  as  soon  as  signed,  and 
the  same  day  were  presented  to  five  of  our  principal  agents, 
our  most  faithful  and  devoted  brothers,  residing  in  Paris. 
All  five  were  arrested  : two  were  taken  to  the  Bastille, 
where  they  are  kept  in  the  most  profound  secrecy ; two 
are  at  Vincennes,  in  the  dungeon  ; one  in  the  most  noi- 
some cell  in  Bicetre.  Did  you  know  this  circumstance  'I  ” 
“ No,”  said  Balsamo. 

“ That  is  strange,  after  what  we  know  of  your  relations 


THE  JUDGMENT. 


313 


with  those  in  power  in  the  kingdom ; but  there  is  some- 
thing stranger  still.” 

Balsamo  listened. 

“ To  enable  Monsieur  de  Sartines  to  arrest  these  five 
faithful  friends,  he  must  have  had  the  only  paper  which 
contains  the  names  of  the  victims  in  his  possession.  This 
paper  was  sent  to  you  by  the  supreme  council  in  1769  ; 
and  to  you  it  was  assigned  to  receive  the  new  members, 
and  immediately  invest  them  with  the  rank  which  the 
supreme  council  assigned  them.” 

Balsamo  expressed  by  a gesture  that  he  did  not  recollect 
the  circumstance. 

“ I shall  assist  your  memory.  The  five  persons  in  ques- 
tion were  represented  by  five  Arabic  characters ; and  these 
characters,  in  the  paper  you  received,  corresponded  with 
the  names  and  ciphers  of  the  new  brothers.” 

“ Be  it  so,”  said  Balsamo. 

“ You  acknowledge  it  ? ” 

“ I acknowledge  whatever  you  please.” 

The  president  looked  at  his  assistants,  as  if  to  order 
them  to  take  a note  of  this  confession. 

“Well,”  continued  he,  “on  this  paper  — the  only  one, 
remember,  which  could  have  compromised  the  brothers  — 
there  was  a sixth  name.  Do  you  remember  it  i ” 

Balsamo  made  no  reply. 

“ The  name  was  — the  Comte  de  Fenix .” 

“ Agreed,”  said  Balsamo. 

“ Then  why,  — if  the  names  of  the  five  brothers  figured 
in  five  lettres-de-cachet , — why  was  yours  respected,  caressed, 
and  favorably  received  at  court  and  in  the  antechambers  of 
ministers  1 If  our  brothers  merited  prison,  you  merited  it 
also.  What  have  you  to  reply  1 ” 

“ Nothing.” 

“ Ah  ! I can  divine  your  answer.  You  may  say  that 


314 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


the  police  had  by  private  means  discovered  the  names  ol 
the  obscurer  brethren,  but  that  they  were  obliged  to  re- 
spect yours  as  an  ambassador  and  a powerful  man.  You 
may  even  say  that  they  did  not  suspect  this  name.” 

“ I shall  say  nothing.” 

“Your  pride  outlives  your  honor.  These  names  the 
police  could  have  discovered  only  by  reading  the  confi- 
dential note  which  the  supreme  council  had  sent  you ; and 
this  is  the  way  it  was  seen.  You  kept  it  in  a coffer.  Is 
that  true?” 

“It  is.” 

“ One  day  a woman  left  your  house  carrying  the  coffer 
under  her  arm.  She  was  seen  by  our  agents,  and  followed 
to  the  hotel  of  the  lieutenant  of  police,  in  the  Faubourg 
St.  Germain.  We  might  have  arrested  the  evil  at  its 
source ; for  if  we  had  stopped  the  woman  and  taken  the 
coffer  from  her,  everything  would  have  been  safe  and  sure. 
But  we  obeyed  the  rules  of  our  constitution,  which  com- 
mand us  to  respect  the  secret  means  by  which  some  mem- 
bers serve  the  cause,  even  when  these  means  have  the 
appearance  of  treason  or  imprudence.” 

Balsamo  seemed  to  approve  of  this  assertion,  but  with  a 
gesture  so  little  marked,  that,  had  it  not  been  for  his  pre- 
vious immobility,  it  would  have  been  unnoticed. 

“ This  woman  reached  the  lieutenant  of  police,”  said  the 
president ; “ she  gave  him  the  coffer,  and  all  was  discov- 
ered. Is  this  true  ? ” 

“ Perfectly  true.” 

The  president  rose. 

“ Who  was  this  woman  ? ” he  exclaimed,  — “ beautiful, 
impassioned,  devotedly  attached  to  you  body  and  soul, 
tenderly  loved  by  you;  as  clever,  as  subtle,  as  cunning 
as  one  of  the  angels  of  darkness  who  assist  man  to  commit 
evil ! Lorenza  Feliciani  is  your  wife,  Balsamo  1” 


THE  JUDGMENT. 


315 


Balsamo  uttered  a groan  of  despair. 

“ You  are  convinced  ? ” said  the  president. 

“ Conclude,”  replied  Balsamo. 

“ I have  not  yet  finished.  A quarter  of  an  hour  after 
she  had  entered  the  hotel  of  the  lieutenant  of  police,  you 
arrived.  She  had  sown  the  treason ; you  came  to  reap  the 
reward.  The  obedient  servant  had  taken  upon  herself  the 
perpetration  of  the  crime  ; you  came  to  add  the  finishing 
stroke  to  the  infamous  work.  Lorenza  departed  alone.  You 
renounced  her,  doubtless,  and  would  not  compromise  your- 
self by  accompanying  her ; you  left  triumphantly  along 
with  Madame  Dubarry,  summoned  there  to  receive  from 
your  own  lips  the  information  you  sold  her.  You  entered 
the  carriage  with  that  prostitute,  as  the  boatman  entered 
the  boat  with  the  sinner,  Mary  the  Egyptian.  You  left 
behind  the  papers  which  ruined  us  with  Monsieur  de 
Sartines,  but  you  brought  away  the  coffer  which  might 
have  ruined  you  with  us.  Fortunately  we  saw  you,  — 
God’s  light  is  with  us  when  we  need  it  most.” 

Balsamo  bowed  without  speaking. 

“ I now  conclude,”  added  the  president.  “Two  crimi- 
nals have  been  pointed  out  to  the  order ; a woman,  your 
accomplice,  who  may  be  innocent,  perhaps,  but  who,  in 
point  of  fact,  has  injured  our  cause  by  revealing  one  of 
our  secrets ; and  you,  the  Master,  the  Great  Copt,  the  en- 
lightened mind,  who  have  had  the  cowardice  to  shelter 
yourself  behind  this  woman,  that  your  treason  may  be  less 
clearly  seen.” 

Balsamo  raised  his  head,  and  fixed  a look  upon  the 
commissioners,  burning  with  all  the  rage  which  had 
smouldered  in  his  breast  since  the  beginning  of  the 
interrogation. 

“ Why  do  you  accuse  this  woman?  ” he  asked. 

“ Ah  \ we  know  that  you  will  endeavor  to  defend  her ; 


316 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


we  know  that  you  love  her  almost  to  idolatry,  that  you 
prefer  her  to  everything  in  the  world.  We  know  that  she 
is  your  treasure  of  science,  of  happiness,  and  of  fortune ; 
we  know  that  she  is  more  precious  to  you  than  all  the 
world  beside.” 

“ You  know  all  this  ? ” said  Balsamo. 

“ Yes,  we  know  it ; and  we  shall  punish  you  through 
her  more  than  through  yourself.” 

“ Finish ! ” 

The  president  rose. 

“This  is  the  sentence  : Joseph  Balsamo  is  a traitor, — 
he  has  broken  his  oath ; but  his  knowledge  is  immense, 
and  he  is  useful  to  the  order.  Balsamo  must  live  for  the 
cause  he  has  betrayed.  He  belongs  to  his  brothers,  though 
he  has  cast  them  off.” 

“Ah,  ah ! ” said  Balsamo,  gloomily,  almost  savagely. 

“ A perpetual  prison  will  protect  the  association  against 
any  renewal  of  his  treachery,  at  the  same  time  that  it  will 
permit  the  brothers  to  receive  the  service  from  him  which 
it  has  a right  to  expect  from  all  its  members.  As  to 
Lorenza  Feliciani,  a terrible  punishment  — ” 

“Hold!”  said  Balsamo,  with  perfect  calmness  in  his 
voice,  “ you  forget  that  I did  not  defend  myself ; the  ac- 
cused must  be  heard  in  his  own  justification.  A word,  a 
single  proof,  will  suffice  ; wait  one  moment,  and  I will 
bring  you  the  proof  I have  promised.” 

The  commissioners  seemed  to  deliberate  for  a moment. 

“ Ah,  you  fear  lest  I should  kill  myself  ! 99  said  Balsamo, 
with  a bitter  smile.  “ If  that  had  been  my  wish,  it  would 
have  been  already  done.  There  is  that  in  this  ring  which 
would  have  killed  you  all  five  times  over  had  I opened 
it.  You  fear  I should  escape;  let  me  be  guarded  if  you 
wish  it.” 

“ Go  1 ” said  the  president. 


THE  JUDGMENT. 


317 


Balsamo  disappeared  for  a short  time.  Then  he  was 
heard  heavily  descending  the  staircase.  He  entered,  bear- 
ing the  cold,  rigid,  and  discolored  body  of  Lorenza  upon 
his  shoulder,  her  white  hand  hanging  to  the  ground. 

“ Here  is  the  woman  I adored,  who  was  my  treasure, 
my  only  happiness,  my  life  ! — the  woman  who,  as  you 
say,  has  betrayed  you.  Here,  take  her  ! God  did  not 
wait  for  you  to  punish,  gentlemen  ! ” 

And  with  a movement  quick  as  lightning  he  let  the 
corpse  glide  from  his  arms,  and  sent  it  rolling  on  the  car- 
pet to  the  feet  of  the  judges,  whom  her  cold  hair  and  the 
dead  and  motionless  hands  touched,  to  their  great  horror, 
while  by  the  light  of  the  lamps  they  saw  the  wide  gash 
gaping  in  her  neck,  white  as  a swan’s. 

“ Now  pronounce  the  sentence  ! ” added  Balsamo. 

The  horrified  judges  uttered  a cry,  and  seized  with 
maddening  terror  fled  in  indescribable  confusion.  Soon 
their  horses  were  heard  neighing  and  trampling  in  the 
courtyard,  the  outer  gate  grated  on  its  hinges,  and  then 
silence,  the  solemn  silence  of  the  tomb,  returned  to  seat 
itself  beside  despair  and  death. 


318 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

DOOM. 

While  the  terrible  scene,  which  we  have  just  described, 
was  taking  place  between  Balsamo  and  the  Five  Masters, 
nothing  apparently  had  changed  in  the  rest  of  the  house. 
The  old  man  had  seen  Balsamo  enter  his  apartment  and 
bear  away  Lorenza’s  corpse ; and  this  new  incident  had 
recalled  him  to  what  was  passing  around  him.  But  when 
he  saw  Balsamo  take  up  the  dead  body  and  descend  with 
it  into  the  lower  rooms,  he  fancied  it  was  the  last  and 
eternal  adieu  of  this  man  whose  heart  he  had  broken,  and 
fear  descended  on  his  soul  with  an  overwhelming  force, 
which  for  him  who  had  done  all  to  avoid  death  doubled 
the  horror  of  the  grave.  Not  knowing  for  what  purpose 
Balsamo  had  left  him,  nor  whither  he  was  going,  he  began 
to  call  out,  “ Acharat ! Acharat  ! ” It  was  the  name  his 
pupil  had  borne  in  childhood,  and  he  hoped  it  would  have 
retained  its  influence  over  the  man. 

But  Balsamo  continued  to  descend.  Having  touched 
the  floor,  he  even  forgot  to  make  the  trap  reascend,  and 
disappeared  in  the  corridor. 

“ Ah  ! ” cried  Althotas,  “ see  what  man  is,  — a blind, 
ungrateful  animal ! Return,  Acharat,  return  ! Ah,  you 
prefer  the  ridiculous  object  called  a woman  to  the  perfec- 
tion of  humanity  which  I represent ! You  prefer  a frag- 
ment of  life  to  immortality  ! 

“ But  no  ! ” he  exclaimed,  after  a moment’s  pause,  " the 
wretch  has  deceived  his  master  ! He  has  betrayed  my 


DOOM. 


319 


confidence  like  a vile  robber ; he  feared  that  I should  live 
because  I surpass  him  so  much  in  science ; he  wanted  to 
inherit  the  laborious  work  I had  nearly  concluded ; he  laid 
a trap  for  me,  his  master  and  benefactor  ! Oh,  Acharat ! 

And  gradually  the  old  man’s  anger  was  aroused,  his 
cheeks  were  dyed  with  a hectic  tinge,  his  half-closed  eyes 
seemed  to  glow  with  the  gloomy  brightness  of  those  phos- 
phorescent lights  which  sacrilegious  children  place  in  the 
cavities  of  a human  skull.  Then  he  cried  : “ Return, 
Acharat,  return ! Look  to  yourself ! You  know  that  I 
have  conjurations  which  evoke  fire  and  raise  up  super- 
natural spirits  ! I have  evoked  Satan,  — him  whom  the 
magi  called  Phegor,  in  the  mountains  of  Gad,  — and  Satan 
was  forced  to  leave  his  bottomless  pit  and  appear  before 
me ! I have  conferred  with  the  seven  angels  who  were 
ministers  of  God’s  anger  upon  the  same  mountain  where 
Moses  received  the  ten  commandments ! By  my  will 
alone  I have  kindled  the  great  tripod  with  its  seven 
flames  which  Trajan  stole  from  the  Jews!  Take  care, 
Acharat,  take  care  ! ” 

But  there  was  no  reply.  Then  his  brain  became  more 
and  more  clouded.  “Do  you  not  see,  wretch,”  said  he, 
in  a choking  voice,  “ that  death  is  about  to  seize  me  as  it 
would  the  meanest  mortal  h Listen,  Acharat ! you  may 
return ; I will  do  you  no  harm.  Return ! I renounce 
the  fire ; you  need  not  fear  the  evil  spirit,  nor  the  seven 
avenging  angels.  I renounce  vengeance,  and  yet  I could 
strike  you  with  such  terror  that  you  would  become  an 
idiot  and  as  cold  as  marble,  for  I can  stop  the  circulation 
of  the  blood.  Come  back,  then,  Acharat ! I will  do  you 
no  harm,  but  on  the  contrary  I can  do  you  much  good. 
Acharat,  instead  of  abandoning  me,  watch  over  my  life, 
and  you  shall  have  all  my  treasures  and  all  my  secrets. 
Make  me  live,  Acharat,  that  I may  teach  them  to  you. 


320 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


See,  see  ! ” and  with  gleaming  eyes  and  trembling  fingers 
he  pointed  to  the  numerous  objects,  papers,  and  rolls 
scattered  through  the  vast  apartment.  Then  he  waited, 
collecting  all  his  fast-failing  faculties  to  listen. 

“Ah,  you  come  not!  ” he  cried.  “You  think  I shall 
die  thus,  and  through  this  murder  — for  you  are  murder- 
ing me  — everything  will  belong  to  you.  Madman  ! were 
you  even  capable  of  reading  the  manuscripts  which  I 
alone  am  able  to  decipher ; were  the  spirit  even  to  grant 
you  my  wisdom  for  a lifetime  of  one,  two,  or  three  centu- 
ries, to  make  use  of  the  materials  I have  gathered,  — you 
should  not  inherit  them  ! No,  no,  a thousand  times  no  ! 
Return,  Acharat,  return  for  a moment,  were  it  only  to 
behold  the  ruin  of  this  whole  house,  — were  it  only  to 
contemplate  the  beautiful  spectacle  I am  preparing  for 
you  ! Acharat ! Acharat ! Acharat ! ” 

There  was  no  answer,  for  Balsamo  was  during  this  time 
replying  to  the  accusation  of  the  Five  Masters  by  showing 
them  the  mutilated  body  of  Lorenza.  The  cries  of  the 
deserted  old  man  grew  louder  and  louder;  despair  re- 
doubled his  strength,  and  his  hoarse  yellings,  reverberat- 
ing in  the  long  corridors,  spread  terror  afar,  like  the 
roaring  of  a tiger  who  has  broken  his  chain  or  forced  the 
bars  of  his  cage. 

“ Ah,  you  do  not  come  ! ” shrieked  Althotas ; “ you 
despise  me ; you  calculate  upon  my  weakness ! Well, 
you  shall  see  ! Fire  ! fire  ! fire ! ” 

He  articulated  these  cries  with  such  vehemence  that 
Balsamo,  now  freed  from  his  terrified  visitors,  was  roused 
by  them  from  the  depth  of  his  despair.  He  took  Lorenza’s 
corpse  in  his  arms,  reascended  the  staircase,  laid  the  dead 
body  upon  the  sofa  where  two  hours  previously  it  had  re- 
posed in  sleep,  and  mounting  upon  the  trap,  he  suddenly 
appeared  before  Althotas. 


DOOM. 


321 


“ Ah,  at  last ! ” cried  the  old  man,  with  savage  joy. 
“ You  were  afraid ; you  saw.  I could  revenge  myself,  and 
you  came  ! You  did  well  to  come,  for  in  another  moment 
I should  have  set  this  chamber  on  fire  ! ” 

Balsamo  looked  at  him,  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly, 
but  did  not  deign  to  reply. 

“I  am  athirst!”  cried  Althotas,  — “ I am  athirst! 
Give  me  drink,  Acharat ! ” 

Balsamo  made  no  reply ; he  did  not  move  ; he  looked 
at  the  dying  man  as  if  he  would  not  lose  an  atom  of  his 
agony. 

“ Do  you  hear  me  ? ” howled  Althotas,  — “ do  you  hear 
me?” 

The  same  silence,  the  same  immobility  on  the  part  of 
the  gloomy  spectator. 

“ Do  you  hear  me,  Acharat  ? ” vociferated  the  old  man, 
almost  tearing  his  throat  in  his  efforts  to  give  emphasis  to 
this  last  burst  of  rage  ; “ water  ! give  me  water  ! ” 

Althotas’s  features  were  rapidly  decomposing.  There 
was  no  longer  fire  in  his  looks,  but  only  an  unearthly 
glare;  the  blood  no  longer  coursed  beneath  his  sunken 
and  cadaverous  cheek  ; motion  and  life  were  almost  dead 
within  him.  His  long  sinewy  arms,  in  which  he  had 
carried  Lorenza  like  a child,  were  raised,  but  inert  and 
powerless  as  the  membranes  of  a polypus.  His  fury 
had  worn  out  the  feeble  spark  which  despair  had  for  a 
moment  revived  in  him. 

“ Ah  ! said  he,  “ ah  ! you  think  I do  not  die  quickly 
enough  ! You  mean  to  make  me  die  of  thirst ! You 
gloat  over  my  treasures  and  my  manuscripts  with  longing 
eyes!  Ah,  you  think  you  have  them  already!  Wait, 
wait ! ” And  with  an  expiring  effort,  Althotas  took  a 
small  bottle  from  beneath  the  cushions  of  the  armchair 
and  uncorked  it.  At  the  contact  with  the  air,  a liquid 

VOL.  III.  — 21 


322 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


flame  burst  from  the  glass  vessel,  and  Althotas,  like  some 
potent  magician,  shook  this  flame  around  him. 

Instantly  the  manuscripts  piled  round  the  old  man’s 
armchair,  the  books  scattered  over  the  room,  the  rolls  of 
paper  disinterred  with  so  much  trouble  from  the  pyramid 
of  Cheops  and  the  subterranean  depths  of  Herculaneum, 
took  fire  with  the  rapidity  of  gunpowder.  A sheet  of 
flame  overspread  the  marble  slab,  and  seemed  to  Balsamo’s 
eyes  like  one  of  those  flaming  circles  of  hell  of  which 
Dante  sings. 

Althotas  no  doubt  expected  that  Balsamo  would  rush 
into  the  flames  to  save  this  valuable  inheritance  which 
the  old  man  was  annihilating  along  with  himself,  but  he 
was  mistaken.  Balsamo  did  not  stir,  but  stood  calm  and 
isolated  upon  the  trap-door,  where  the  fire  could  not  reach 
him. 

The  flames  wrapped  Althotas  in  their  embrace,  but 
instead  of  terrifying  him,  it  seemed  as  if  the  old  man 
found  himself  once  more  in  his  proper  element,  and  that, 
as  with  the  salamanders  sculptured  on  our  ancient  castles, 
the  fire  caressed  instead  of  consuming  him. 

Balsamo  still  stood  gazing  at  him.  The  fire  had  seized 
upon  the  woodwork,  and  completely  surrounded  the  old 
man ; it  roared  around  the  feet  of  the  massive  oaken  chair 
on  which  he  was  seated,  and  what  was  most  strange, 
though  it  was  already  consuming  the  lower  part  of  his 
body  he  did  not  seem  to  feel  it. 

On  the  contrary,  at  the  contact  with  the  seemingly  puri- 
fying element,  the  dying  man’s  muscles  seemed  gradually 
to  distend,  and  an  indescribable  serenity  overspread  his 
features  like  a mask.  Isolated  from  his  body  at  this  last 
hour,  the  old  prophet  on  his  car  of  fire  seemed  ready  to 
wing  his  way  aloft.  The  mind,  all-powerful  in  its  last 
moments,  forgot  its  attendant  matter,  and  sure  of  having 


DOOM. 


323 


nothing  more  to  expect  below,  it  stretched  ardently  up- 
ward to  those  higher  spheres  to  which  the  fire  seemed  to 
bear  it. 

From  this  moment  the  eyes  of  Althotas,  which  at  the 
first  reflection  of  the  flames  seemed  to  have  been  re- 
endowed with  life,  gazed  vaguely  and  abstractedly  at  some 
point  in  space  which  was  neither  heaven  nor  earth ; they 
seemed  trying  to  pierce  the  horizon.  Calm  and  resigned, 
analyzing  all  sensation,  listening  to  all  pain,  with  his  last 
breath  on  earth  the  old  magician  muttered,  in  a hollow 
voice,  his  adieus  to  power,  to  life,  and  hope.  “ Ah  ! ” 
said  he,  “ I die  without  regret.  I have  possessed  every- 
thing on  earth,  and  have  known  all ; I have  had  all 
power  which  is  granted  to  a human  creature;  I had  almost 
reached  immortality  ! ” 

Balsamo  uttered  a sardonic  laugh,  whose  gloomy  echo 
arrested  the  old  man’s  attention.  Through  the  flames 
which  surrounded  him  as  with  a veil,  he  cast  a look  of 
savage  majesty  upon  his  pupil.  “ You  are  right,”  said  he ; 
“ one  thing  I had  not  foreseen,  — God  ! ” 

Then,  as  if  this  mighty  word  had  uprooted  his  whole 
soul,  Althotas  fell  back  upon  his  chair.  He  had  given  up 
to  God  that  last  breath  which  he  had  hoped  to  withhold 
from  him. 

Balsamo  heaved  a sigh,  and  without  endeavoring  to 
save  anything  from  the  precious  pile  upon  which  this 
second  Zoroaster  had  stretched  himself  to  die,  he  again 
descended  to  Lorenza,  and  touched  the  spring  of  the  trap, 
which  readjusted  itself  in  the  ceiling,  veiling  from  his 
sight  the  immense  furnace,  which  roared  like  the  crater  of 
a volcano. 

During  the  whole  night  the  fire  roared  above  Balsamo’s 
head  like  a whirlwind,  without  his  making  an  effort  either 
to  extinguish  it  or  to  escape.  Stretched  beside  Lorenza's 


324 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


body,  he  was  insensible  to  all  danger.  But  contrary  to 
his  expectations,  when  the  fire  had  devoured  all,  and  laid 
bare  the  vaulted  walls  of  stone,  annihilating  all  the  valu- 
able contents,  it  extinguished  itself ; and  Balsamo  heard  its 
last  roarings,  which,  like  those  of  Althotas,  gradually  died 
away  in  plaints  and  sighs. 


PERPLEXITIES. 


325 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

PERPLEXITIES. 

The  Due  de  Richelieu  was  in  his  bed-chamber  at  his 
house  in  Versailles,  taking  his  vanilla  chocolate  in  com- 
pany with  Monsieur  Rafte  who  was  going  over  his  ac- 
counts. The  duke,  deeply  engaged  in  looking  at  his  face 
reflected  in  a mirror  a short  distance  from  him,  was  giving 
very  little  attention  to  the  calculations,  more  or  less  exact, 
of  his  secretary. 

Suddenly  a noise  of  creaking  shoes  in  the  antechamber 
gave  notice  of  a visit,  and  the  duke  hastily  finished  his 
chocolate,  looking  uneasily  toward  the  door.  There  were 
times  when  Monsieur  de  Richelieu,  like  coquettes  of  ad- 
vanced age,  did  not  like  to  receive  visitors. 

The  valet  announced  Monsieur  de  Taverney.  The 
duke  doubtless  was  about  to  send  some  excuse,  which 
would  have  put  off*  until  another  day,  or  at  least  until 
another  hour,  his  friend’s  visit,  but  as  soon  as  the  door  was 
opened  the  petulant  old  man  darted  into  the  room,  offered 
while  passing  by  him  the  end  of  his  finger  to  the  marshal, 
and  hastened  to  bury  himself  in  an  immense  easy-chair 
which  groaned  under  the  shock  rather  than  under  his 
weight. 

Richelieu  saw  his  friend  go  by  him  like  one  of  those 
fantastic  men  in  whose  existence  Hoffman  has  since  per- 
suaded us  to  believe.  He  heard  the  creaking  of  the  chair, 
he  heard  a heavy  sigh,  and  turning  to  his  guest,  “ Eh  I 


326 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Baron,”  said  he,  “ what  is  the  news]  You  seem  as  sad  as 
death.” 

“ Sad,”  said  Taverney,  — “ sad  ! ” 

“ Pardieu  / that  did  not  seem  to  me  a sigh  of  joy.” 

The  baron  looked  at  the  marshal  in  a manner  which 
said  that  while  Rafte  was  present  there  would  be  no  ex- 
planation of  the  sigh.  Rafte  understood  without  taking 
the  trouble  to  turn  around  ; for  he,  as  well  as  his  master, 
sometimes  looked  in  mirrors.  And  he  discreetly  with- 
drew. The  baron  looked  after  him,  and  as  the  door  closed 
behind  him,  said,  “ Do  not  say 6 sad,’  Duke ; say  ‘ anxious/ 
and  mortally  anxious.” 

“ Bah ! ” 

“ Indeed,”  cried  Taverney,  clasping  his  hands,  “ I advise 
you  to  pretend  surprise.  For  more  than  a month  you 
have  put  me  off  with  vague  words,  such  as,  4 1 have  not 
seen  the  king/  or  again,  4 The  king  has  not  seen  me/  or 
perhaps,  4 The  king  treats  me  coolly.’  Cordieu  / Duke, 
that  is  not  the  way  to  answer  an  old  friend.  A month,  — 
why,  that  is  eternity  ! ” 

Richelieu  shrugged  his  shoulders.  “ What  the  devil 
do  you  want  me  to  say,  Baron  ] ” he  replied. 

“ Eh  ! the  truth  ! ” 

44  Mordieu  ! I have  told  you  the  truth  ; mordieu  / I 
drum  it  into  your  ears,  but  you  will  not  believe  it,  that 
is  all.” 

“ What  ! you  would  like  me  to  believe  that  you,  duke 
and  peer,  a marshal  of  France,  a gentleman  of  the  bed- 
chamber, do  not  see  the  king,  — you  who  go  to  the  levee 
every  morning  ] Nonsense!” 

“ I have  said  so,  and  I repeat  it,  although  it  may  not 
be  credible;  for  three  weeks  I have  been  present  every 
day  at  the  levee,  — I,  duke  and  peer,  marshal  of  France, 
gentleman  of  the  bed-chamber  ! ” 


PERPLEXITIES. 


327 


“ And  the  king  does  not  speak  to  you,  and  you  do  not 
speak  to  the  king  ] And  you  expect  me  to  swallow  such 
a fib  as  that  ] ” said  Taverney. 

“ Eh  ! Baron,  my  friend,  you  are  getting  impertinent ; 
you  give  me  the  lie  as  if  we  were  at  least  forty  years 
younger  and  still  skilful  with  the  small-sword.  ” 

“ But  I am  enraged,  Duke.” 

“ Ab;  that  is  another  thing ; he  enraged  my  dear  friend, 
— I am  enraged  myself.” 

“ You  are  enraged  1 ” 

“ And  with  reason,  as  you  must  admit  when  I tell  you 
that  since  that  day  the  king  has  not  looked  at  me;  when 
I tell  you  that  his  Majesty  has  constantly  turned  his  back 
on  me  ; that  whenever  I have  smiled  pleasantly  upon  him, 
the  king  has  responded  with  a frightful  grimace.  In  short, 
I am  weary  of  going  to  Versailles  to  be  mocked  at ! 
Come  ! What  would  you  have  me  do  about  it  ? ” 

Taverney  was  fiercely  biting  his  finger-nails  during  this 
reply  of  the  marshal.  “ I do  not  understand  it  at  all,” 
said  he,  at  last. 

“Nor  I,  Baron.” 

“ Indeed,  I suppose  the  king  laughs  at  these  anxieties ; 
for  in  short  — ” 

“ Yes  ; that  is  just  what  I say,  Baron,  in  short  — 99 
“ Come,  Duke,  we  must  find  some  way  out  of  this  per- 
plexity ; we  must  contrive  some  skilful  plan  by  which  we 
can  reach  an  explanation  of  all  this.” 

“ Baron,  Baron,”  replied  Richelieu ; “ there  is  danger  in 
provoking  explanations  from  kings.” 

“ You  think  so  ] ” 

“ Yes.  Do  you  want  me  to  tell  you  something  1 ” 

“ Speak.” 

“ Well,  I suspect  something.” 

“ And  what  1 ” asked  the  baron,  haughtily. 


328 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Ah  ! now  you  are  getting  angry.” 

“ With  reason,  it  seems  to  me.” 

“ Then,  let  us  stop  talking.” 

“ On  the  contrary,  let  us  go  on ; but  explain  your* 
self.” 

“ The  devil  is  in  you  with  your  explanations.  Indeed, 
it  is  a monomania  ; beware  of  it.” 

“You  are  charming,  Duke;  you  see  all  our  plans  ob- 
structed, you  see  an  unaccountable  delay  in  the  progress 
of  my  affairs,  and  you  advise  me  to  wait ! ” 

“ What  delay  ? Tell  me.” 

“ In  the  first  place,  see  this.” 

“ A letter  ? ” 

“ Yes,  from  my  son.” 
u Ah  ! The  colonel.” 

“ Fine  colonel ! ” 

“ Good  ! and  what  is  there  new  down  there1?  ” 

“ That  for  nearly  a month  Philippe  has  been  awaiting 
at  Rheims  the  appointment  promised  him  by  the  king ; 
that  he  has  not  received  this  appointment ; and  that  the 
regiment  sets  out  in  two  days.” 

“ The  devil ! The  regiment  sets  out  1 99 
“ Yes,  for  Strasburg.” 

“ So  that  if  Philippe  does  not  receive  this  commission 
within  two  days  — ” 

“Well,  in  two  days  Philippe  will  be  here.” 

“Yes,  I understand,  — they  have  forgotten  the  poor 
boy ; it  is  often  so  in  the  bureaus  organized  like  those  of 
the  new  minister.  Ah!  if  I had  been  minister,  the 
appointment  would  have  been  sent!” 

“ Ahem  ! ” said  Tavern ey. 

“ What  do  you  say  1 ” 

“ I say  that  I do  not  believe  a word  of  it.” 

“ What ! ” 


PERPLEXITIES. 


329 


“ If  you  had  been  minister,  you  would  have  sent 
Philippe  to  the  five  hundred  devils.” 

“Oh!” 

“ And  his  father  too.” 

“ Oh,  oh ! ” 

“And  his  sister  farther  still.” 

“ It  is  pleasant  to  talk  with  you,  Taverney  ; you  are 
full  of  spirit.  But  let  us  say  no  more  about  it.” 

“ I ask  nothing  better  for  my  own  part ; but  it  will  not 
do  for  my  son,  — his  position  is  intolerable.  Duke,  it  is 
absolutely  necessary  to  see  the  king.” 

“ Eh  ! that  is  all  I do,  I tell  you.” 

“ To  speak  to  him,  then.” 

“ Eh ! my  dear  friend,  you  cannot  speak  to  the  king  if 
he  will  not  speak  to  you.” 

“ Force  him.” 

“ Ah  ! I am  not  the  pope.” 

“ Then,”  said  Taverney,  “ I am  determined  to  speak  to 
my  daughter ; for  there  is  something  equivocal  in  all 
this,  Monsieur  le  Due.” 

This  word  had  a magical  effect.  Richelieu  had  studied 
Taverney ; he  knew  him  for  a roue  like  Monsieur  Lafare 
or  Monsieur  de  Noce,  friends  of  his  youth,  whose  reputa- 
tion was  unblemished.  He  feared  the  alliance  of  father 
and  daughter  ; he  feared  something,  he  knew  not  what, 
which  might  disgrace  him.  “ Well,  do  not  be  angry,” 
said  he ; “I  will  try  one  more  plan.  But  I must  have  a 
pretext.” 

“ You  have  a pretext.” 

“ What  is  it  1 ” 

“ The  king  has  made  a promise.” 

“ To  whom]” 

“ To  my  son.  And  this  promise  — ” 
u Well]  ” 


330 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ He  must  be  reminded  of  it.” 

“ Indeed,  that  is  an  expedient.  Have  you  that  letter  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Let  me  have  it.” 

Taverney  drew  it  from  his  vest  pocket  and  handed  it  to 
the  duke,  urging  him  to  the  exercise  both  of  caution  and 
of  boldness. 

“ Fire  and  water,”  said  Eichelieu.  “ Come,  we  are  talk- 
ing extravagantly.  No  matter,  the  wine  is  drawn,  we 
must  drink.” 

He  rang  the  bell. 

“ Bring  my  clothes  and  see  that  the  carriage  is  ready,” 
said  the  duke.  Then  turning  to  Taverney,  he  said  with 
an  uneasy  manner,  “ Will  you  assist  at  my  toilet, 
Baron  ? ” 

Taverney  knew  that  he  would  trouble  his  friend  by 
accepting,  and  replied,  “ No,  my  friend,  it  is  impossible  ; 
I must  take  a turn  about  the  city.  Where  will  you  meet 
me?” 

“ Why,  at  the  chateau.  It  is  important  that  you  too 
should  see  his  Majesty.” 

“ You  think  so  ? ” said  Taverney,  delighted. 

“ I insist  upon  it ; I wish  you  to  see  for  yourself  that 
what  I said  is  true.” 

“ I do  not  doubt  it ; but  since  you  wish  — ” 

“ You  are  very  glad  to,  eh  t ” 

“ To  be  frank,  yes.” 

“ Well,  in  the  Glass  Gallery  at  eleven  o’clock,  while  I 
go  in  to  see  his  Majesty.” 

“ I will  be  there  ; adieu.” 

" Without  ill-will,  dear  Baron,”  said  Eichelieu,  who 
even  up  to  the  last  moment  sought  to  avoid  making  an 
enemy  of  a man  the  extent  of  whose  power  he  did  not 
know. 


PERPLEXITIES. 


331 


Taverney  got  into  his  carriage  and  went  off,  solitary  and 
thoughtful,  to  take  a long  drive  in  the  gardens,  while 
Richelieu,  left  to  the  care  of  his  valet,  made  himself 
young  again  at  his  ease,  which  important  business  occu- 
pied the  illustrious  hero  of  Mahon  not  less  than  two 
hours.  It  was,  however,  much  less  time  than  Taverney 
in  his  own  mind  had  allowed  him  for  it ; and  the  baron, 
on  the  lookout,  saw,  at  eleven  o’clock  precisely,  the  mar- 
shal’s carriage  stop  before  the  entrance  of  the  palace, 
where  the  officers  in  waiting  saluted  Richelieu,  and  the 
ushers  conducted  him  forward. 

Taverney’s  heart  beat  violently.  More  slowly  than  his 
eager  spirit  would  have  urged  he  repaired  to  the  Gallery 
of  Mirrors,  where  numerous  courtiers,  officers  bearing  peti- 
tions, and  ambitious  lordlings,  stood  like  statues  on  the 
slippery  floor,  — appropriate  support  for  the  courtiers  of 
Fortune. 

Taverney  mingled  with  the  crowd,  taking  the  precaution 
to  place  himself  in  a corner  within  reach  of  the  mar- 
shal when  the  latter  should  leave  the  presence  of  his 
Majesty. 

“ Oh  ! ” muttered  he,  between  his  teeth,  “that  I should 
be  excluded  with  these  country  squires  and  dirty  soldiers, 
— I,  who  a month  ago  took  supper  in  private  with  his 
Majesty ! ” And  his  frowning  brow  gave  expression  to 
more  than  one  infamous  suspicion  which  would  have  made 
poor  Andree  blush. 


332 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE  MEMORY  OF  KINGS. 

Richelieu,  in  fulfilment  of  his  promise,  went  bravely  and 
placed  himself  in  view  of  his  Majesty  just  when  Monsieur 
de  Conde  was  handing  him  his  shirt. 

The  king,  on  seeing  the  marshal,  turned  away  with  so 
sudden  a movement  that  the  shirt  fell  to  the  floor,  and  the 
prince  drew  back  in  surprise. 

“ Pardon,  my  cousin,”  said  Louis  XV.,  to  show  the 
prince  that  there  was  nothing  personal  to  him  in  this 
quick  movement.  Richelieu  was  thus  apprised  that  this 
expression  of  anger  was  directed  against  him.  But  as  if 
he  had  come  determined  to  provoke  this  anger,  if  it  should 
be  necessary,  with  a view  to  a serious  explanation,  he 
faced  about,  as  at  Fontenoy,  and  placed  himself  where  the 
king  would  pass  him  in  going  into  his  cabinet. 

The  king,  no  longer  seeing  the  marshal,  began  to  speak 
freely  and  graciously  ; he  finished  dressing,  arranged  for  a 
hunt  at  Marly,  and  held  a long  consultation  with  his 
cousin  about  it,  — for  Messieurs  de  Conde  have  always  had 
the  reputation  of  being  great  sportsmen.  But  when  he 
was  passing  into  his  cabinet  after  everybody  else  had  gone 
away,  he  perceived  Richelieu  posing  with  all  his  grace  for 
the  most  charming  reverence  which  had  been  made  since 
that  of  Lauzun,  who,  it  will  be  remembered,  bowed  so 
finely. 

Louis  XV.  stopped,  almost  abashed.  " Still  here, 
Monsieur  de  Richelieu  ? ” said  he. 


THE  MEMORY  OF  KINGS. 


333 


“ At  your  Majesty’s  service  ; yes,  Sire.” 

“ You  have  not,  then,  left  Versailles  !” 

“ For  forty  years,  Sire,  I have  seldom  gone  away,  ex- 
cept when  in  your  Majesty’s  service.” 

The  king  stopped  in  front  of  the  marshal  and  said, 
“You  want  something  of  me,  do  you  not!” 

“ I,  Sire!”  said  Richelieu,  smiling.  “ Eh,  what  should 
I want  1 ” 

“But  you  pursue  me,  Duke,  morbleu!  I perceive  it 
clearly  enough.” 

“ Yes,  Sire,  with  my  love  and  my  respect.  Thanks, 
Sire.” 

“ Oh ! you  pretend  not  to  understand  me ; hut  you 
understand  me  wonderfully  well.  And  I,  believe  me. 
Monsieur  le  Marechal,  have  nothing  to  say  to  you.” 

“ Nothing,  Sire  ! ” 

“ Absolutely  nothing.” 

Richelieu  armed  himself  with  a profound  indifference. 
“ Sire,”  said  he,  “I  have  always  had  the  pleasure  of  be- 
lieving, in  my  soul  and  conscience,  that  my  diligence  in 
the  service  of  the  king  was  disinterested.  A great  thing 
to  say,  Sire,  of  these  forty  years  of  which  I have  spoken 
to  your  Majesty  ; also,  the  envious  will  not  say  that  the 
king  has  ever  granted  me  a favor.  On  that  point,  fortu- 
nately, my  reputation  is  secure.” 

“Eh,  Duke,  if  you  want  anything,  ask,  — but  ask 
quickly.” 

“ Sire,  I want  absolutely  nothing ; and  for  the  present 
I confine  myself  to  begging  your  Majesty  — ” 

“What!” 

“ That  you  will  admit  to  your  presence  to  express  his 
gratitude  — ” 

“Who  is  it  1 ” 

“ Sire,  one  who  is  under  great  obligation  to  the  king.” 


334 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ What  do  you  mean  ? ” 

“ One,  Sire,  on  whom  your  Majesty  has  bestowed  a 
signal  honor.  Ah  ! when  one  has  had  the  honor  of  sit- 
ting at  your  Majesty’s  table,  when  one  has  enjoyed  that 
graceful  conversation,  that  charming  humor  which  makes 
your  Majesty  the  most  admirable  companion,  — then,  Sire, 
one  never  forgets,  and  he  eagerly  seeks  to  continue  a 
custom  so  delightful.” 

“ Your  language  is  very  extravagant,  Monsieur  de 
Richelieu.” 

“ Oh,  Sire  — ” 

“ In  short,  of  whom  do  you  speak  ? ” 

“ Of  my  friend  Taverney.” 

“ Of  your  friend  h ” cried  the  king. 

“ Pardon,  Sire  ! ” 

“ Taverney  ! ” replied  the  king,  with  an  accent  of  ter- 
ror which  to  the  duke  was  very  surprising. 

“ What  could  you  expect,  Sire  ? An  old  comrade  — ” 
he  stopped  a moment  — “ a man  who  served  under 
Villars  with  me  — ” He  stopped  again.  “ You  know, 
Sire,  that  in  this  world  we  call  friends  all  whom  we 
know  ; those  whom  we  do  not  know  are  our  enemies.  It 
is  a polite  word,  which  often  does  not  mean  anything.” 

“ It  is  a compromising  word,  Duke,”  replied  the  king, 
sharply ; “ it  is  a word  to  be  used  with  reserve.” 

“ The  utterances  of  your  Majesty  are  precepts  of  wis- 
dom. Monsieur  de  Taverney,  then  — ” 

“ Monsieur  de  Taverney  is  an  immoral  man.” 

“ Indeed,  Sire,  on  the  word  of  a gentleman,  I had  mis- 
trusted it  myself.” 

“ A man  without  delicacy,  Monsieur  le  Marechal.” 

“ As  for  his  delicacy,  I will  not  speak  of  it  before  your 
Majesty.  I vouch  only  for  what  I know.” 

“ What ! you  do  not  vouch  for  the  delicacy  of  your 


THE  MEMORY  OF  KINGS. 


335 


friend,  of  an  old  comrade,  of  a man  who  has  served  with 
you  under  Villars,  of  a man  whom  you  have  presented  to 
me,  — in  short  — You  know  him , however  ! ” 

“ Him,  certainly,  Sire ; but  not  his  delicacy.  Sully 
told  your  ancestor,  Henri  IV.,  that  he  had  seen  his  fever 
go  off  dressed  in  a green  robe;  but  I humbly  confess, 
Sire,  that  I have  never  known  how  the  delicacy  of 
Taverney  was  dressed.” 

“ Indeed,  Marshal,  — it  is  I who  say  it,  — he  is  a bad 
man,  who  has  played  a villanous  role.” 

“ Oh  ! if  your  Majesty  says  so  — ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur,  I say  it.” 

“ Your  Majesty  relieves  my  mind  by  speaking  in  this 
way.  Ho,  I confess  Taverney  is  not  a flower  of  delicacy; 
and  I have  perceived  it  already.  But,  Sire,  while  your 
Majesty  did  not  deign  to  tell  me  your  opinion  — ” 

“This  is  it,  Monsieur,  I detest  him.” 

“ Ah  ! the  judgment  is  pronounced,  Sire.  Happily  for 
this  unfortunate,”  continued  Bichelieu,  “ a powerful  in- 
tercessor  pleads  for  him  with  your  Majesty.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  h ” 

“ If  the  father  has  had  the  misfortune  to  displease  the 
king  — ” 

“ And  very  much.” 

“ I do  not  deny  it,  Sire.” 

“ What  do  you  say,  then  ? ” 

“ I say  that  an  angel  with  blue  eyes  and  blond 
hair  — ” 

“ I do  not  understand  you,  Duke.” 

“ That  may  be,  Sire.” 

“ I wish  to  understand  you,  however,  I confess.” 
w An  ordinary  person  like  me,  Sire,  trembles  at  the  idea 
of  lifting  even  a corner  of  the  veil  which  shelters  so  many 
charming  mysteries  of  love;  but  I repeat  it,  how  much 


336 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


indulgence  Taverney  must  owe  to  the  one  who  mitigates 
in  his  favor  the  royal  indignation.  Oh,  yes  ; Mademoiselle 
Andr^e  must  be  an  angel ! ” 

“ Mademoiselle  is  a little  monster  physically,  as  her 
father  is  a monster  morally ! ” cried  the  king. 

“ Oh  ! ” cried  Richelieu,  astounded ; “ are  we  all  mis- 
taken, and  this  beautiful  appearance  — ” 

“ Never  speak  to  me  of  that  girl,  Duke ; it  makes  me 
shudder  only  to  think  of  her.” 

Richelieu  clasped  his  hands  affectedly.  “ Oh,  my  God  ! ” 
said  he,  “ appearances  have  turned  out  — Had  not  your 
Majesty,  the  best  judge  in  the  kingdom,  infallibility 
itself,  assured  me  of  that,  how  could  I believe  it  ] What, 
Sire,  so  deformed  ? ” 

“ More  than  that,  Monsieur ; affected  with  a malady,  — 
a dreadful,  lurking  malady,  Duke.  But,  for  God’s  sake, 
not  a word  more  about  her,  or  you  will  kill  me ! ” 

“ Oh,  Heaven  ! ” cried  Eichelieu,  “ I will  not  open  my 
mouth  again  on  the  subject,  Sire.  To  kill  your  Majesty ! 
— oh,  what  a sorrow  ! What  a family  it  is ! He  must 
be  unhappy,  the  poor  boy  ! ” 

“ Of  whom  do  you  speak  to  me  now  ” 

“Oh,  this  time  of  a faithful,  sincere,  devoted  servant 
of  your  Majesty.  Oh,  Sire,  he  is  a model,  and  you  have 
judged  him  correctly.  This  time,  I vouch  for  it,  your 
favor  has  been  bestowed  upon  the  right  person.” 

“ But  whom  are  you  talking  about,  Duke  ? Finish  what 
you  have  to  say,  for  I am  in  a hurry.” 

“ I speak,”  replied  Eichelieu,  gently,  “ of  the  son  of  the 
one,  and  the  brother  of  the  other.  I speak  of  Philippe  de 
Taverney,  that  gallant  young  man  to  whom  your  Majesty 
has  given  a regiment.” 

“Ill  have  given  a regiment  to  some  one  ? ” 

“ Yes,  Sire ; a regiment  which  Philippe  de  Taverney 


THE  MEMORY  OF  KINGS. 


337 


is  still  waiting  for,  it  is  true,  but  which  you  have  really 
given  him.” 

« I ? ” 

“ Bless  me,  I believe  so,  Sire ! ” 

“ You  are  mad ! ” 

“ Oh ! ” 

“ I have  given  nothing  at  all,  Marshal.” 

“ Truly  ? ” 

“ But  what  the  devil  is  that  to  you  ? ” 

“ But,  Sire  — ” 

Does  this  affair  concern  you  ? ” 

“ Not  the  least  in  the  world.” 

“ You  have  perhaps  sworn  to  burn  me  by  a slow  fire 
with  this  fagot  of  thorns  ? ” 

“ What  do  you  mean,  Sire  ? I thought  — I see 
now  that  I was  mistaken  — I thought  that  you  had 
promised  — ” 

“ But  it  is  not  my  business,  Duke  ; I have  a minister 
of  war.  I never  give  regiments.  A regiment ! — a pretty 
story  they  have  told  you  ! Ah  ! you  are  the  advocate  of 
this  brood  ? I told  you  that  you  did  wrong  to  speak  to 
me  ; see  how  you  have  set  all  my  blood  flowing  the  wrong 
way.” 

“ Oh,  Sire  ! ” 

“ Yes,  the  wrong  way.  Though  the  Devil  be  the  advo- 
cate, I will  not  submit  to  this  any  longer ; ” and  with 
these  words  the  king  turned  his  back  upon  the  duke,  and 
quite  furious,  took  refuge  in  his  cabinet,  leaving  Richelieu 
in  the  deepest  misery. 

“ Ah ! now,”  muttered  the  old  marshal,  “ I know 
where  I stand.” 

And  dusting  off  with  his  handkerchief  the  powder 
which  in  the  heat  of  the  encounter  had  fallen  upon  his 
clothes,  Richelieu  directed  his  steps  toward  the  gallery  in 


338 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


the  comer  of  which  his  friend  was  waiting  with  burning 
impatience. 

]NTo  sooner  did  the  marshal  appear  than,  like  a spider 
pouncing  on  his  prey,  the  baron  ran  to  get  the  latest  intel- 
ligence. With  eager  eye,  his  heart  in  his  mouth,  his  arms 
extended,  he  presented  himself.  “Well!  what  news?” 
he  asked. 

“ There  is  something  new,  Monsieur,”  replied  Eichelieu, 
straightening  himself  up,  with  a scornful  curl  of  the  lips 
and  a gesture  of  contempt ; “ it  is  that  I beg  you  never  to 
address  me  another  word.” 

Taverney  looked  at  the  duke  with  wondering  eyes. 

“ Yes ; you  have  greatly  displeased  the  king,”  contin- 
ued Eichelieu,  “ and  in  displeasing  the  king,  you  offend 
me.” 

Taverney  in  bis  stupefaction  stood  riveted  to  the  marble 
floor  as  if  his  feet  had  taken  root  there. 

Eichelieu  meantime  continued  on  his  way.  Then  arriv- 
ing at  the  Gallery  of  Mirrors,  where  his  valet  was  in  wait- 
ing, u To  Luciennes ! ” cried  he.  And  he  disappeared. 


ANDREE’S  SWOONS. 


339 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

andr^e’s  swoons. 

Taverney,  when  he  had  come  to  himself  and  examined 
thoroughly  this  misfortune,  as  he  called  it,  knew  that  the 
moment  had  come  for  a serious  explanation  with  the 
first  cause  of  these  great  alarms.  Consequently,  boil- 
ing with  anger,  he  directed  his  steps  to  the  residence  of 
Andree. 

The  young  girl  was  giving  the  last  touch  to  her  toilet, 
raising  her  rounded  arms  to  fasten  behind  her  ear  two  re- 
bellious tresses  of  hair.  She  heard  the  step  of  her  father 
in  the  antechamber  just  as,  with  book  under  her  arm,  she 
was  leaving  her  apartment. 

“ Ah ! good-day,  Andree,”  said  Monsieur  de  Taverney, 
“ are  you  going  out  ? ” 

“Yes,  father.” 

“Alone?” 

“ As  you  see.” 

“ Are  you,  then,  still  alone  ? ” 

“ Since  the  disappearance  of  Nicole,  I have  not  procured 
a maid.” 

“ But  you  cannot  dress  yourself,  Andree,  that  will  be 
injurious  to  you  ; a woman  carelessly  dressed  has  no  suc- 
cess at  court.  I should  recommend  to  you  quite  another 
course,  Andree.” 

“ Excuse  me,  father,  but  Madame  la  Dauphine  is  wait- 
ing for  me.” 


340 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ I assure  you,  Andree,”  replied  Taverney,  getting  ex- 
cited as  he  went  on,  “ I assure  you,  Mademoiselle,  that 
with  this  simplicity  you  will  be  ridiculous.” 

“Father  — ” 

“ Ridicule  kills  everywhere,  and  especially  at  court.” 

“ Monsieur,  I will  think  of  it.  But  just  now  Madame 
la  Dauphine  will  be  pleased  to  have  me  dressed  less  ele- 
gantly that  I may  be  more  prompt  in  responding  to  her 
summons.” 

“ Go,  then,  and  return,  I beg,  as  soon  as  you  are  free ; 
for  I wish  to  talk  with  you  of  a serious  matter.” 

“Yes,  father,”  said  Andree,  and  she  tried  to  go  on  her 
way. 

The  baron  gave  her  a searching  look.  “ Stop,  stop,”  he 
cried,  “ you  cannot  go  out  so  ; you  have  forgotten  your 
rouge,  Mademoiselle,  you  are  so  pale  as  to  be  repulsive.” 

“ I,  father  'l  ” said  Andree,  stopping. 

“ Why,  when  you  look  at  yourself  in  the  mirror  what 
do  you  think  *?  Your  cheeks  are  as  white  as  wax,  and  you 
have  circles  under  your  eyes.  You  will  frighten  people  if 
you  go  out  in  that  condition,  Mademoiselle.” 

“ I have  not  time  to  make  any  change  in  my  toilet,  father.” 
“ It  is  provoking ; indeed,  it  is  disgusting  ! ” cried  Tav- 
erney, shrugging  his  shoulders ; “ there  is  only  one  such 
woman  in  the  world,  and  I have  her  for  a daughter. 
What  a cruel  fate  ! Andree  ! Andree  ! ” 

But  Andree  was  already  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs. 
She  came  back. 

“ At  least,”  cried  Taverney,  “ say  that  you  are  sick ; 
make  yourself  interesting,  mordieu  ! if  you  cannot  make 
yourself  beautiful  ! ” 

“ That  will  be  very  easy  to  do,  father,  and  I can  truth- 
fully say  that  I am  sick  ; for  I am  really  suffering  at  this 
moment.” 


ANDREE’S  SWOONS. 


341 


“ Well/'  grumbled  the  baron  ; “ we  needed  only  that, 
— sick!”  Then  between  his  teeth,  “ Plague  take  the 
haughty  prudes  ! ” And  he  returned  to  his  daughter’s 
chamber  where  he  occupied  himself  in  looking  carefully 
for  anything  which  might  aid  his  conjectures  and  help  him 
form  an  opinion. 

Meantime  Andree  crossed  the  square  and  walked  along 
by  the  flower-beds.  From  time  to  time  she  raised  her  head 
to  breathe  more  deeply ; for  the  perfume  of  the  newly 
opened  flowers  went  to  her  head  and  made  her  dizzy. 
Thus  disturbed,  almost  staggering  under  the  heat  of  the 
sun,  the  young  girl  arrived,  struggling  with  an  unfamiliar 
sickness,  at  the  antechambers  of  Trianon,  when  Madame 
de  Noailles,  standing  upon  the  threshold  of  the  cabinet  of 
the  dauphiness,  gave  Andree  to  understand  with  the  first 
words  she  spoke  that  it  was  time  for  her  to  arrive  and 
that  they  were  expecting  her. 

The  abbe,  reader  by  appointment  to  the  princess,  was 
taking  breakfast  with  her  Royal  Highness,  who  often  ad- 
mitted to  such  privileges  those  persons  with  whom  she 
was  intimate.  The  abbe  was  praising  the  excellence  of 
those  French  rolls  which  German  housekeepers  pile  up  so 
carefully  around  a cup  of  coffee  and  cream.  The  abbe  was 
talking  instead  of  reading,  and  was  relating  to  the  dauphi- 
ness all  the  news  from  Vienna  which  he  had  received  at 
the  houses  of  the  journalists  and  diplomatists  ; for  at  this 
period  politics  were  openly  discussed,  — as  freely  indeed 
as  in  the  most  secret  recesses  of  government  offices ; and 
it  was  not  unusual  for  the  ministry  to  acquire  information 
which  these  gentlemen  of  the  Palais-Royal  or  of  the  parks 
of  Versailles  had  divined  or  perhaps  fabricated. 

The  abbd  spoke  especially  of  the  recent  rumors  of  a 
threatened  outbreak,  occasioned  by  the  high  price  of 
grain,  which  Monsieur  de  Sartines  had  quickly  sup- 


342 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


pressed  by  sending  to  the  Bastille  five  of  the  heaviest 
monopolizers. 

Andree  came  in.  The  dauphiness  too  had  her  days 
of  caprice  and  headache ; the  abbe  had  interested  her ; 
the  thought  of  Andree’s  book  following  his  conversation 
vexed  her.  Consequently  she  warned  her  second  reader 
not  to  be  late  again,  adding  that  punctuality,  good  in  itself, 
was  especially  so  when  the  occasion  called  for  it. 

Andree,  confounded  by  the  reproach  and  wounded  by  its 
injustice,  made  no  reply,  although  she  might  have  said  that 
she  had  been  detained  by  her  father  and  forced  to  come 
slowly  because  she  was  suffering  so  much.  No  ; troubled 
and  oppressed,  she  bent  her  head,  and  as  if  she  were  going 
to  die,  closed  her  eyes  and  lost  her  balance.  But  for  the 
support  of  Madame  de  Noailles  she  would  have  fallen. 

“ How  awkward  your  bearing  is,  Mademoiselle  ! ” mut- 
tered Madame  Etiquette. 

Andree  did  not  answer. 

“But,  Duchess,  she  is  sick!*  cried  the  dauphiness, 
rising  to  go  to  Andree. 

“ No,  no,”  said  Andree,  quickly,  her  eyes  full  of  tears ; 
“ no,  your  Highness,  I am  well ; or  rather  I am  better.” 

“ But  see,  she  is  as  white  as  her  handkerchief,  Duchess. 
It  is  my  fault,  I scolded  her.  Poor  child,  sit  down,  I 
wish  it.” 

“ Madame  — ” 

“Come,  when  I command!  Give  her  your  folding 
chair,  Abbe.” 

Andree  sat  down,  and  gradually,  under  the  gentle  in- 
fluence of  this  kindness,  her  mind  became  composed  and 
the  color  returned  to  her  cheeks. 

“Well,  Mademoiselle,  can  you  read  now?”  asked  the 
dauphiness. 

“ Oh,  yes,  indeed ; I hope  so,  at  least.” 


ANDKEE’S  SWOONS. 


343 


And  Andree  opened  the  book  at  the  place  where  she 
had  left  off  reading  the  evening  before,  and  with  a voice 
which  she  tried  to  steady,  to  make  her  reading  as  intelli- 
gible and  agreeable  as  possible,  she  began.  But  she  had 
read  hardly  two  or  three  pages  when  the  little  black  let- 
ters dancing  before  her  eyes  began  to  go  round  and  round, 
and  finally  became  illegible. 

Andree  grew  pale  again ; cold  perspiration  rose  from  her 
breast  to  her  forehead,  and  that  black  circle  around  the 
eyes,  with  which  Taverney  had  reproached  his  daughter 
so  bitterly,  increased  to  such  a degree  that  the  dauphi- 
ness,  who  had  looked  up  when  Andree  stopped  reading, 
cried  out,  “ See,  Duchess,  indeed  this  child  is  very  sick ; 
she  is  fainting.” 

And  the  dauphiness  herself  ran  to  get  a bottle  of  salts 
which  she  made  her  reader  inhale.  Thus  revived,  Andere 
tried  to  pick  up  the  book,  but  the  effort  was  in  vain ; her 
hands  kept  up  a nervous  trembling  which  for  some  time 
nothing  could  quiet. 

“ Most  assuredly,  Duchess,”  said  the  dauphiness, 
u Andree  is  suffering,  and  she  must  not  aggravate  her 
trouble  by  staying  here.” 

“ Then  Mademoiselle  must  return  directly  home,”  said 
the  duchess. 

“ And  why  so,  Madame  'l  ” asked  the  dauphiness. 

“ Because,”  replied  the  lady  of  honor,  with  a low  bow, 
“ because  the  small-pox  begins  in  this  way.” 

“ The  small-pox  % ” 

“ Yes,  fainting-fits,  swoons,  chills.” 

The  abbe  thought  himself  materially  concerned  in  the 
danger  indicated  by  Madame  de  Noailles,  for  he  got  up, 
and  thanks  to  the  liberty  which  this  indisposition  of  a 
woman  gave  him,  he  slipped  away  on  tip-toe  so  quietly 
that  no  one  noticed  his  departure. 


344 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


When  Andree  saw  herself,  so  to  speak,  in  the  arms  of 
the  danphiness,  the  shame  of  having  annoyed  to  this 
degree  so  great  a princess  renewed  her  strength,  or  rather 
her  courage.  She  went  to  the  window  to  breathe  more 
freely. 

“ There  is  no  need  of  going  to  the  window  for  fresh  air, 
my  dear  child,”  said  Madame  la  Dauphine ; “ pray,  return 
home,  I will  go  with  you.” 

“ Oh,  I assure  you,  Madame,”  said  Andree,  “ that  I am 
quite  recovered ; I can  go  alone  very  well  if  your  Highness 
will  give  me  permission  to  retire.” 

“ Yes,  yes ; and  be  calm,”  replied  the  dauphiness ; 
“you  shall  not  be  scolded  any  more  since  you  are  so 
sensitive,  little  rogue.” 

Andree,  touched  by  this  kindness,  which  seemed  like  a 
sister’s  friendship,  kissed  the  hand  of  her  protectress  and 
left  the  apartment,  while  the  dauphiness  looked  after  her 
anxiously.  When  she  was  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  the 
dauphiness  called  to  her  from  the  window,  “ Do  not  go 
in  immediately,  Mademoiselle.  Walk  a little  while  in  the 
garden ; this  sunshine  will  do  you  good.” 

“ Oh,  mon  Dieu , Madame ! Thanks  ! ” murmured 
Andree. 

“ And  please  ask  the  abbe  to  return ; he  is  taking  his 
botanical  course  down  there  in  that  bed  of  Holland 
tulips.” 

Andree  was  obliged  to  make  a detour  in  order  to  meet 
the  abbe.  She  crossed  the  flower-garden,  and  went  on 
with  bowed  head,  a little  dull  still  from  the  effect  of  the 
strange  dizziness  she  had  suffered  with  all  the  morning ; 
she  paid  no  attention  to  the  birds  which,  startled,  flew 
over  the  hedges  and  flower-beds,  nor  to  the  bees  humming 
over  the  thyme  and  lilacs.  She  did  not  even  notice, 
twenty  feet  from  her,  two  men  who  were  talking  together, 


ANDREES  SWOONS. 


345 


one  of  whom  followed  her  with  a troubled  and  anxious 
gaze. 

These  two  men  were  Gilbert  and  Monsieur  de  Jussieu. 
The  former,  leaning  upon  his  spade,  was  listening  to  the 
learned  professor,  who  was  explaining  the  manner  of 
watering  delicate  plants  so  that  the  water  would  pass 
into  the  ground  and  not  remain  on  the  surface.  Gilbert 
seemed  to  be  listening  eagerly,  and  Monsieur  de  Jussieu 
saw  nothing  but  what  was  natural  in  this  ardor  for  science ; 
for  the  demonstration  was  one  which  drew  applause  from 
the  benches  of  students  in  the  public  course.  Now,  for  a 
poor  young  gardener,  was  it  not  an  unusual  good  fortune 
to  receive  this  lesson  of  so  great  a master,  given  in  the 
very  presence  of  Nature  ? 

“ There  are  here,  you  see,  my  child,  four  kinds  of 
earth,”  said  Monsieur  de  Jussieu  ; “and  if  I chose,  I could 
discover  ten  others  mixed  with  these  four  primary  ones. 
But  for  the  inexperienced  gardener,  the  distinction  would 
be  a little  too  fine.  The  florist  must  always  taste  the 
earth,  as  the  gardener  his  fruits.  You  understand  me, 
Gilbert  ? ” 

“Yes,  Monsieur,”  answered  Gilbert,  his  eyes  staring, 
his  mouth  open ; for  he  had  seen  Andree,  and  from  the 
place  where  he  stood  he  could  watch  her  without  letting 
the  professor  suspect  that  he  was  not  religiously  listening 
to  and  comprehending  the  demonstration. 

“ In  order  to  get  the  taste  of  the  earth,”  said  Monsieur 
de  Jussieu,  all  the  time  deceived  by  the  absent-mindedness 
of  Gilbert,  “ shut  up  a handful  in  a sieve,  pour  some  drops 
of  water  gently  over  it,  and  taste  this  water  when  it  shall 
have  filtered  through  the  earth  into  a vessel  underneath 
the  sieve.  The  saline  savors,  whether  acrid  or  insipid  or 
flavored  with  certain  natural  essences,  suit  wonderfully 
the  juices  of  the  plants  which  you  wish  to  place  in  it| 


346 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


for  in  Nature,  says  Monsieur  Rousseau,  your  old  patron, 
all  is  analogy,  assimilation,  a tendency  to  homogeneity 

“ Oh,  my  God  ! ” cried  Gilbert,  extending  his  arms 
before  him. 

“ What  is  the  matter  ? ” 

“ She  has  fainted,  Monsieur,  she  has  fainted ! ” 

“ Who,  then  ? Are  you  mad  ? ” 

“ She,  she  ! ” 

“ She  1 ” 

“Yes,”  replied  Gilbert,  eagerly,  “a  lady;”  and  his 
fright  and  paleness  would  have  betrayed  him,  as  well  as 
the  word  “she,”  if  Monsieur  de  Jussieu  had  not  looked 
up  to  follow  the  direction  of  his  hand.  In  doing  this, 
Monsieur  de  Jussieu  saw,  indeed,  Andree,  who  had 
dragged  herself  behind  a hedge  and  fallen  prostrate  on 
a bench.  There  she  lay  motionless,  and  at  the  point  of 
losing  consciousness. 

It  was  the  hour  at  which  the  king  made  his  daily  visit 
to  the  dauphiness,  and  crossed  the  orchard  in  passing  from 
the  great  to  the  little  Trianon.  He  now  suddenly  ap- 
peared. He  held  a vermilion  peach  (marvel  of  precocity), 
and  was  asking  himself  — royal  egotist  that  he  was  — if  it 
would  not  tend  more  to  the  happiness  of  France  if  this  peach 
were  enjoyed  by  him  rather  than  by  Madame  la  Dauphine. 

The  haste  of  Monsieur  de  Jussieu  in  running  to  Andree, 
whom  the  king  with  his  feeble  sight  scarcely  saw  and  did 
not  recognize  at  all,  and  the  stifled  cries  of  Gilbert  which 
indicated  the  most  profound  terror,  quickened  the  step  of 
his  Majesty. 

“ What  is  the  matter  ? What  is  it  ? ” demanded  Louis 
XV.,  approaching  the  hedge  from  which  only  the  width 
of  a path  separated  him. 

“ The  king  ! ” cried  Monsieur  de  J ussieu,  supporting 
the  young  girl  in  his  arms. 


ANDRfeE'S  SWOONS. 


347 


“ The  king  ? ” murmured  Mademoiselle  Andree,  fainting 
away  completely. 

“ But  who  is  it  1 ” repeated  Louis  XY.,  — “ a woman  ? 
What  has  happened  to  this  woman  'l 99 

“ Sire,  a swoon.” 

“ Ah ! let  us  see,”  said  Louis  XY. 

“ She  is  unconscious,  Sire,”  added  Monsieur  de  Jussieu, 
pointing  to  the  young  girl  lying  rigid  and  motionless  upon 
the  bench  where  he  had  just  placed  her. 

The  king  approached,  recognized  Andree,  and  exclaimed, 
shuddering,  “ Again  ! Oh,  that  is  frightful ! Those  who 
have  such  maladies  should  stay  at  home.  It  is  not  proper 
to  be  dying  like  this  all  day  long  in  public ; ” and  Louis 
XY.  retraced  his  steps  toward  the  pa  v ill  ion  of  Petit 
Trianon,  muttering  a thousand  things  hostile  to  poor 
Andree. 

Monsieur  de  Jussieu,  who  was  ignorant  of  the  ante- 
cedents, stood  a moment  stupefied  ; then,  turning  round 
and  seeing  Gilbert  ten  steps  off  in  an  attitude  of  fear  and 
anxiety,  “ Come  here,  Gilbert,”  cried  he.  “ You  are 
strong ; you  can  carry  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  to  her 
apartments.” 

“ I ! ” cried  Gilbert,  trembling ; “ I carry  her,  — touch 
her  ? Xo,  no ; she  would  never  pardon  me,  — no,  never  I ” 
and  he  fled  distracted,  calling  for  aid. 


348 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

DOCTOR  LOUIS. 

At  a short  distance  from  the  place  where  Andree  had 
fainted  two  gardeners  were  working,  who  ran  up  on  hear- 
ing Gilbert’s  cries,  and  obedient  to  the  order  of  Monsieur  de 
Jussieu,  bore  Andree  to  her  apartment.  Gilbert  followed 
at  a distance,  with  head  bowed,  and  shambling  in  his  gait, 
like  an  assassin  marching  behind  the  body  of  his  victim. 

Monsieur  de  Jussieu,  having  reached  the  principal  en- 
trance, relieved  the  gardeners  of  their  burden.  Andr6e 
had  just  opened  her  eyes. 

The  sound  of  voices  and  that  significant  commotion 
which  accompanies  every  accident,  drew  Monsieur  de 
Taverney  from  the  apartment ; he  saw  his  daughter,  totter- 
ing still,  try  to  hold  herself  erect  so  as  to  ascend  the  steps 
with  the  help  of  Monsieur  de  Jussieu.  He  ran  up,  asking 
like  the  king,  “What  is  the  matter]  what  is  it?” 

“Nothing,  father,”  replied  Andree,  feebly,  — “an  ill- 
turn,  a headache.” 

“ Mademoiselle  is  your  daughter  ? ” said  Monsieur  de 
Jussieu,  saluting  the  baron. 

“Yes,  Monsieur.” 

“ I cannot  leave  her  in  better  hands,  then  ; but  in  the 
name  of  Heaven  consult  a doctor.” 

“ Oh  ! it  is  nothing,”  said  Andree. 

And  Taverney  repeated,  “ Certainly,  it  is  nothing.” 

“ I hope  so,”  said  Monsieur  de  Jussieu  ; “ but  indeed, 
Mademoiselle  was  very  pale.”  And  then,  having  assisted 


DOCTOR  LOUIS. 


349 


Andree  to  the  top  of  the  stairs,  he  took  leave.  The  father 
and  daughter  were  left  alone, 

Taverney,  who  during  the  absence  of  Andree  had  spent 
his  time  profitably  in  good  reflections,  took  the  hand  of 
Andree,  who  was  still  standing,  led  her  to  a seat  on  the 
sofa,  and  sat  down  by  her. 

“Pardon,  Monsieur,”  said  Andree;  “but  be  so  good  as 
to  open  the  window.  I need  air.” 

“ I wished  to  talk  seriously  with  you,  Andree,  and  in 
this  cage  they  have  given  you  for  a dwelling,  a breath  can 
be  heard  on  all  sides ; but  no  matter,  I will  speak  low.” 
And  he  opened  the  window. 

Then,  reseating  himself  by  the  side  of  his  daughter,  he 
said,  shaking  his  head,  “ It  must  be  confessed  that  the 
king  who  at  first  displayed  so  much  interest  in  us  does  not 
show  much  consideration  in  letting  you  live  in  such  a 
den.” 

“Father,”  replied  Andree,  “there  are  no  accommoda- 
tions at  Trianon;  you  know  that  is  the  great  defect  of 
that  residence.” 

“ That  there  should  be  no  accommodations  for  others,” 
said  Taverney,  with  an  insinuating  smile,  “ I can  thor- 
oughly understand,  my  daughter  ; but  as  regards  yourself, 
I do  not  understand  it.” 

“ You  have  too  good  an  opinion  of  me,  Monsieur,” 
replied  Andree,  smiling:  “and  unfortunately  everybody 
does  not  think  as  you  do.” 

“All  who  know  you,  my  daughter,  on  the  contrary, 
think  as  I do.” 

Andree  bowed  as  she  would  have  done  in  thanking  a 
stranger ; for  she  began  to  be  uneasy  at  these  compliments 
from  her  father. 

“ And,”  continued  Taverney,  in  the  same  insinuating 
manner,  “ and  — the  king  knows  you,  I suppose  'l 99  And 


350 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


while  speaking,  he  cast  a look  upon  the  young  girl  of 
intolerable  inquisitiveness. 

“ Indeed,  the  king  hardly  knows  me,”  replied  Andree, 
very  naturally,  “ and  I am  of  slight  importance  to  him,  as 
I suppose.” 

These  words  made  the  baron  start.  “ Of  slight  impor- 
tance ! ” he  cried ; “ indeed,  I do  not  understand  your 
words,  Mademoiselle.  Of  slight  importance  ! indeed,  you 
set  a low  value  on  your  person.” 

Andree  looked  at  her  father  in  astonishment. 

“ Yes,  yes,”  continued  the  baron ; “ I say  it,  and  I re- 
peat it,  you  are  so  modest  as  to  forget  personal  dignity.” 

“ Oh,  Monsieur,  you  exaggerate ; the  king  has  been 
interested  by  the  misfortunes  of  our  family,  it  is  true  ; the 
king  has  deigned  to  do  something  for  us ; but  there  are  so 
many  unfortunates  about  his  Majesty’s  throne,  so  many 
gifts  fall  from  the  royal  hand  that  he  would  naturally 
forget  us  after  the  bestowal  of  his  favor.” 

Taverney  looked  steadily  at  his  daughter,  not  without  a 
certain  admiration  of  her  reserve  and  impenetrable  discre- 
tion. “Come,”  said  he,  drawing  nearer  to  her,  “come, 
my  dear  Andree ; your  father  shall  be  the  first  solicitor 
who  addresses  you,  and  in  this  character  I hope  that  you 
will  not  repulse  him.” 

Andree  in  her  turn  looked  at  her  father  like  a woman 
asking  an  explanation. 

“ Come,”  continued  he,  “ we  beg  you,  intercede  for  us, 
do  something  for  your  family  — 99 

“ What  do  you  mean  1 what  do  you  want  me  to  do  ? ” 
cried  Andree,  stupefied  by  his  tone  and  the  import  of  his 
word. 

“ Are  you  willing,  or  not,  to  ask  something  for  me  and 
for  your  brother  ? Speak  ! ” 

“ Monsieur,”  replied  Andree,  “ I will  do  all  that  you 


DOCTOR  LOUIS. 


351 


tell  me  to  do  ; but  indeed,  do  you  not  fear  that  we  shall 
seem  too  avaricious  1 The  king  has  already  given  me  a 
necklace  worth,  you  say,  more  than  one  hundred  thousand 
francs  ; his  Majesty  has  besides  promised  a regiment  to 
my  brother.  We  take  you  see  a considerable  part  of  the 
gifts  of  the  court.” 

Taverney  could  not  restrain  a burst  of  harsh  and  scorn- 
ful laughter.  “ So,”  said  he,  “ you  think  that  is  sufficient 
compensation,  Mademoiselle  h ” 

“ I know,  Monsieur,  that  your  services  are  of  great 
value,”  replied  Andree. 

“ Eh  ! ” cried  Taverney,  impatient ; “ who  the  devil  is 
talking  of  my  services  1 ” 

“ What  are  you  talking  about,  then  h ” 

“ Indeed,  you  are  playing  with  me  a game  of  foolish 
dissembling ! ” 

“ Why  should  I dissemble,  mon  Bieu  ? ” asked  Andree. 

“ But  I know  all,  my  daughter ! ” 

“ You  know  1 ” 

“ All,  I tell  you.” 

“ All  what,  Monsieur  1 ” An  instinctive  blush,  born  of 
this  gross  attack  upon  the  most  modest  of  consciences, 
mantled  the  cheeks  of  Andree. 

The  respect  of  the  father  for  the  child  arrested  Taverney 
in  the  rapid  flow  of  his  questions.  “ Well ! ” said  he,  “ as 
you  please ; you  wish  to  play  the  coy,  it  appears,  the  mys- 
terious ! So  be  it.  You  leave  your  father  and  your 
brother  to  the  obscurity  of  oblivion.  Very  well,  but 
mark  my  words  ; when  one  does  not  have  power  from  the 
outset,  one  is  liable  never  to  have  it  at  all.”  And 
Taverney  turned  about  on  his  heel. 

“ I do  not  understand  you,  Monsieur,”  said  Andree. 

“ Very  well,  I understand  myself,”  replied  Taverney. 

“ That  is  not  enough  when  two  are  talking  together.” 


352 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Well,  I will  be  more  clear.  Make  use  of  all  the 
diplomacy  with  which  you  are  endowed,  and  which  is  a 
virtue  of  our  family,  in  making,  while  there  is  an  oppor- 
tunity, the  fortune  of  your  family  and  your  own ; and  the 
first  time  you  see  the  king  tell  him  that  your  brother  is 
waiting  for  his  appointment,  and  that  you  are  growing  thin 
in  an  apartment  without  air  and  light,  — in  a word,  do  not 
be  so  ridiculous  as  to  have  too  much  love  or  too  much 
disinterestedness.” 

“ But,  Monsieur  — ” 

“ Say  that  to  the  king,  this  evening,  even.” 

“ But  where  do  you  wish  me  to  see  the  king  ] 99 

“ And  add  that  it  is  not  even  suitable  for  his  Majesty  to 
come  — ” 

Just  when  Taverney,  doubtless,  by  using  more  explicit 
terms,  was  about  to  rouse  the  tempest  which  was  quietly 
gathering  in  Andree’s  breast,  and  to  provoke  the  explana- 
tion which  would  have  solved  the  mystery,  steps  were 
heard  on  the  stairs. 

The  baron  stopped  immediately  and  ran  to  the  baluster 
to  see  who  was  coming  to  visit  his  daughter.  An  dree  was 
astonished  to  see  her  father  step  aside  against  the  wall. 
Almost  at  the  same  moment  the  dauphiness,  followed  by  a 
man  dressed  in  black  and  leaning  on  a cane,  entered  the 
little  apartment. 

“Your  Highness!”  cried  An  dree,  mustering  all  her 
strength  to  go  to  meet  the  dauphiness. 

“Yes,  little  invalid,”  replied  the  princess;  “I  bring  you 
consolation  and  the  doctor.  Come,  Doctor.  Ah  ! Monsieur 
de  Taverney,”  continued  the  princess,  recognizing  the 
baron,  “ your  daughter  is  ill,  and  you  take  no  care  of  this 
child.” 

“ Madame — 99  stammered  Taverney. 

“ Come,  Doctor,”  said  the  dauphiness,  with  that  charm- 


DOCTOR  LOUIS. 


353 


ing  kindliness  which  belonged  only  to  her,  — “ come,  feel 
this  pulse,  question  these  heavy  eyes,  and  tell  me  what  is 
the  matter  with  my  protegee.” 

“ Oh,  Madame,  Madame,  what  goodness ! ” murmured 
the  young  girl,  “ how  shall  I have  courage  to  receive  your 
Royal  Highness  % ” 

“ In  this  poor  place,  you  mean,  dear  child ; so  much  the 
worse  for  me  who  have  given  you  so  wretched  an  apart- 
ment. I will  attend  to  that.  Come,  my  child,  give  your 
hand  to  Monsieur  Louis,  my  physician,  and  take  care ; he 
is  a philosopher  who  divines,  as  well  as  a scholar  who  sees 
clearly.” 

Andree,  smiling,  held  out  her  hand  to  the  doctor.  The 
latter,  a young  man  still,  whose  intelligent  face  expressed 
all  that  the  dauphiness  had  said  of  him,  had  occupied  him- 
self since  coming  into  the  room  in  observing,  first  the 
invalid,  then  the  locality,  afterward  the  strange  appear- 
ance of  the  father,  which  indicated  annoyance  but  no 
anxiety.  The  scholar  was  about  to  see  clearly;  the  philos- 
opher had  perhaps  already  divined. 

Doctor  Louis  studied  for  a long  time  the  pulse  of  the 
young  girl  and  questioned  her  as  to  her  symptoms. 

“Complete  distaste  for  all  food,”  answered  Andree; 
“ sudden  twinges  of  pain,  flushes  of  heat  rushing  suddenly 
to  the  head,  spasms,  palpitations,  fainting-fits.” 

The  doctor  grew  more  and  more  sober  as  Andree  went 
on  speaking.  He  finally  relinquished  the  young  girl’s 
hand  and  looked  away. 

“ Well,  Doctor,”  said  the  princess  to  the  physician, 
“ quid  ? as  the  consulting  physicians  say.  Is  the  child 
in  danger,  and  do  you  condemn  her  to  death  ] ” 

The  doctor  looked  at  Andree  and  watched  her  a little 
while  longer  in  silence.  “Madame,”  said  he,  “this  sick- 
ness of  Mademoiselle  is  a very  natural  one.” 

VOL.  III.  — 23 


354 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ And  dangerous  1 99 

“ No,  not  usually,”  replied  the  doctor,  smiling. 

“ Ah  ! very  well,”  said  the  princess,  breathing  more 
freely ; “ do  not  make  her  suffer  too  much.” 

“ Oh,  I shall  not  make  her  suffer  at  all,  Madame.” 

“ What ! you  order  no  prescription  1 19 
“ There  is  absolutely  nothing  to  be  done  for  the  sickness 
of  Mademoiselle.” 

“ Eeally  1 99 

“ Nothing,  Madame.”  And  the  doctor,  as  if  to  avoid 
an  explanation,  took  leave  of  the  princess  under  the  pre- 
text that  his  patients  needed  his  attention. 

“ Doctor,  Doctor,”  said  the  dauphiness,  “ if  what  you 
say  is  true,  I am  much  more  sick  than  Mademoiselle  de 
Taverney ; bring  me,  then,  without  fail,  when  you  visit  me 
this  evening,  the  pills  you  promised  me  to  make  me  sleep.” 
“ Madame,  I will  prepare  them  myself  as  soon  as  I 
reach  home.”  And  he  went  away. 

The  dauphiness  remained  with  her  reader.  “ Do  not 
be  uneasy,  my  dear  Andree,”  said  she,  with  a friendly 
smile ; “ your  sickness  need  not  cause  any  anxiety,  for 
Doctor  Louis  goes  away  without  prescribing  for  you.” 

“ So  much  the  better,  Madame,”  replied  Andree;  “ for 
then  my  service  with  your  Eoyal  Highness  need  not  be 
interrupted  ; and  I feared  that  above  everything.  How- 
ever, with  all  due  deference  to  the  learned  doctor,  I am 
quite  ill,  Madame,  I assure  you.” 

“ It  cannot,  however,  be  a serious  illness,  since  the  doc- 
tor makes  light  of  it.  Go  to  sleep  then,  my  child ; I will 
send  some  one  to  wait  on  you,  for  I see  that  you  are  alone. 
Be  so  kind  as  to  attend  me,  Monsieur  de  Taverney.”  She 
gave  her  hand  to  Andree,  and  went  away,  having  brought 
consolation  to  her  as  she  had  promised. 


MONSIEUR  DE  RICHELIEU’S  WORD-PLAY.  355 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

MONSIEUR  DE  RICHELIEU*S  WORD-PLAY. 

Monsieur  le  Due  de  Richelieu,  as  we  have  seen,  pro- 
ceeded to  Luciennes  with  that  rapidity  of  decision  and 
that  sure  intelligence  which  characterized  the  ambassador 
at  Vienna  and  the  conqueror  of  Mahon. 

He  arrived  joyous  and  unconstrained,  ascended  the 
stairs  like  a young  man,  pulled  the  ears  of  Zamore  as  in 
the  pleasant  days  of  their  friendship,  and  forced,  so  to 
speak,  the  door  of  that  famous  boudoir  of  blue  satin  where 
poor  Lorenza  had  seen  Madame  Dubarry  preparing  for  her 
journey  to  the  Rue  Saint  Claude. 

The  countess,  lying  upon  her  sofa,  was  giving  Monsieur 
d’Aiguillon  her  orders  for  the  morning.  Both  turned 
round  on  hearing  the  noise,  and  were  astounded  at  seeing 
the  marshal. 

“ Ah,  Monsieur  le  Due  ! ” cried  the  countess. 

“ Ah,  my  uncle  ! ” said  Monsieur  d’Aiguillon. 

“ Eh  ! yes,  Madame  ; eh  ! yes,  nephew.  ” 

“ What,  it  is  you  ? ” 

“ It  is  I,  myself,  in  person.” 

“ Better  late  than  never,”  said  the  countess. 

“ Madame,”  said  the  marshal,  u when  we  grow  old  we 
become  capricious.” 

“ Which  means  that  you  have  recovered  for  Luciennes  — ” 
“A  great  love  which  I should  not  have  lost  except 
through  caprice.  It  is  just  that,  and  you  complete  my 
thought  admirably.” 


356 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ So  that  you  return  — ” 

“ So  that  I return,  yes ; ” said  Eichelieu,  seating  him- 
self in  the  best  chair,  which  he  had  recognized  at  the  first 
glance. 

“Oh,  oh!”  said  the  countess,  “there  is  perhaps  some 
other  reason,  which  you  do  not  give ; caprice,  — that  is 
not  enough  for  a man  like  you.” 

“ Countess,  it  would  be  wrong  in  you  to  press  me;  I am 
better  than  my  reputation,  and  if  I return,  do  you  see,  it 
is  — ” 

“ It  is  ] ” asked  the  countess. 

“ With  all  my  heart.” 

Monsieur  d’Aiguillon  and  the  countess  burst  out 
laughing. 

“ How  fortunate  we  are  in  having  a little  sense  with 
which  to  comprehend  the  sense  of  which  you  have  so 
much ! ” said  the  countess. 

“Why?” 

“Yes;  I assure  you  that  fools  would  not  understand, 
would  wonder  at,  and  would  seek  everywhere  the  reason 
for  your  return.  Indeed,  on  the  word  of  a Dubarry, 
you  alone,  dear  Duke,  can  make  entrances  and  exits ; 
Mole  himself  is  a wooden  actor  in  comparison  with 
you.” 

“ Then  you  do  not  believe  that  it  is  the  heart  which 
brings  me  back  ] ” cried  Eichelieu.  “ Countess,  Countess, 
take  care ! you  will  give  me  a bad  opinion  of  yourself ; 
oh,  do  not  laugh,  nephew,  or  I shall  call  you  Pierre,  and 
shall  not  build  anything  upon  you.” 

“Not  even  a little  ministry]”  asked  the  countess, 
and  for  the  second  time  she  burst  out  laughing,  with  a 
freedom  which  she  did  not  try  to  conceal. 

“ Good  ! strike,  strike ! ” said  Eichelieu,  with  affected 
anger,  “ I will  not  return  the  blows ; alas,  I am  too  old,  I 


MONSIEUR  DE  RICHELIEU’S  WORD-PLAY. 


357 


can  only  defend  myself ; abuse  me,  Countess,  abuse  me  ! 
it  is  now  a pleasure  without  danger.” 

“ On  the  contrary,  take  care,  Countess,”  said  D’Aiguil- 
lon  ; “ if  my  uncle  talks  of  his  weakness,  we  are  lost. 
No,  Monsieur  le  Due,  we  will  not  strike  you  ; for  feeble 
as  you  are,  or  rather  pretend  to  be,  you  would  return  the 
blows  with  interest.  No,  the  truth  is,  we  are  delighted 
to  see  you  return  to  us.” 

“ Yes,”  said  the  Countess,  playfully,  “ and  in  honor  of 
your  return,  we  fire  off  cannon,  rockets  ; and  you  know, 
Duke  — ” 

“ I know  nothing,  Madame  ! ” said  the  marshal,  with 
child-like  innocence. 

“ Well,  in  fire- works  there  is  always  some  wig  scorched 
by  the  sparks,  some  hat  crushed  by  the  rocket-stick.” 

The  Duke  touched  his  wig  and  looked  at  his  hat. 

“ That  is  the  explanation,”  said  the  Countess  ; “ but 
you  have  come  back  to  us,  — that  is  the  principal  thing  ; 
as  for  me,  I am,  as  Monsieur  d’Aiguillon  has  told  you,  in 
high  spirits.  Do  you  know  why  ? ” 

“ Countess,  Countess,  you  are  going  to  say  something 
spiteful ! ” 

“ Yes  ; but  it  will  be  the  last.” 

“ Well,  go  on.” 

“ I am  in  good  spirits,  Marshal,  because  your  return 
foretells  fine  weather.” 

Richelieu  bowed. 

“ Yes,”  continued  the  Countess,  “ you  are  like  those 
poetic  birds  which  predict  a calm.  What  is  the  name 
of  those  birds,  Monsieur  D’Aiguillon  ? — you  who  write 
poetry  can  tell  me.” 

“ Halcyons,  Madame.” 

u Precisely.  Ah,  Marshal,  you  will  not  take  offence,  I 
hope  ! I am  comparing  you  to  a bird  with  a pretty  name.” 


358 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


u I shall  take  offence  so  much  the  less,  Madame,”  said 
Richelieu,  with  a little  grimace  which  expressed  satisfac- 
tion, — and  Richelieu’s  satisfaction  always  foreboded  some 
great  wickedness,  — “I  shall  take  offence  so  much  the 
less  that  the  comparison  is  good.” 

“ Do  you  see  h ” 

“ Yes,  I bring  good  news.” 

“ Ah  ! ” said  the  countess. 

“ What  is  it  % ” asked  D’Aiguillon. 

“The  devil!  my  dear  Duke,  you  are  in  great  haste,” 
said  the  countess ; “ give  the  marshal  time  to  make  it.” 
“No,  the  devil  take  me!  I can  tell  you  immediately; 
it  is  made  already,  and  even  of  ancient  date.” 

“ Marshal,  if  you  have  brought  us  any  old  trash  — ” 

“ Indeed ! ” said  the  marshal ; “ it  is  take,  or  leave, 
Countess.” 

“ Well,  let  us  take,  then.” 

“ It  seems,  Countess,  that  the  king  has  fallen  into  the 
trap.” 

“ Into  the  trap  ? ” 

“ Yes,  completely.” 

“ Into  what  trap  ? ” 

“ Into  the  one  you  have  set  for  him.” 

“ I ! ” said  the  countess ; “ I have  set  a trap  for  the 
king  ? ” 

“ Parbleu.  / you  know  it  very  well.” 

“ No,  upon  my  word,  I do  not  know  it.” 

“ Ah,  Countess,  it  is  not  kind  to  mystify  me  so.” 

“ Truly,  Marshal,  I do  not  mean  to.  Explain  yourself, 
I beg  you  ! ” 

“ Yes,  uncle,  explain  yourself,”  said  D’Aiguillon,  who 
thought  he  saw  some  evil  design  beneath  the  ambiguous 
smile  of  the  marshal ; “ Madame  is  waiting,  and  is  very 
anxious.” 


MONSIEUR  DE  RICHELIEU’S  WORD-PLAY. 


359 


The  old  duke  turned  to  his  nephew.  “ Pardieu ! ” 
said  he,  “ it  would  be  strange  if  Madam e la  Comtesse 
had  not  taken  you  into  her  confidence,  my  dear  D?Ai- 
guillon.  Ah,  in  that  case,  it  would  show  that  she  is 
even  deeper  than  I supposed.  ” 

“Me,  uncle?” 

“ Him  ? ” 

“ Doubtless  you,  — doubtless  him.  Come,  Countess,  let 
us  be  frank.  Have  you  taken  him  in  partnership  in  your 
little  conspiracies  against  his  Majesty,  — this  poor  duke, 
who  has  played  so  noble  a part  in  them  ? ” 

Madame  Dubarry  blushed.  It  was  so  early  in  the  day 
that  she  had  neither  rouge  nor  patches  on  her  face,  there- 
fore blushing  was  possible ; but  blushing  was  also  espe- 
cially dangerous. 

“ You  look  at  me,  both  of  you,  with  your  great,  hand- 
some, wondering  eyes,”  said  Kiehelieu ; “ do  I need,  then, 
to  give  you  information  about  your  own  affairs  ? ” 

“Yes,  Marshal,”  said,  at  the  same  time,  the  duke  and 
the  countess. 

“ Well,  the  king  has  discovered  everything,  thanks  to 
his  wonderful  sagacity;  and  he  has  taken  fright.” 

“ What  has  he  discovered  ? ” asked  the  countess  ; “ tell 
us,  for  indeed,  Marshal,  I am  dying  with  impatience.” 

“ But  your  show  of  friendship  with  my  fine  nephew 
here  — ” 

D’Aiguillon  grew  pale,  and  his  glance  at  the  countess 
seemed  to  say,  “ Do  you  see  ? I was  sure  there  was 
something  malicious  coming.” 

Women  are  courageous  in  such  an  emergency, — much 
more  so  than  men.  The  countess  returned  immediately 
to  the  combat.  " Duke,”  said  she,  “ I am  afraid  of 
enigmas  when  you  fill  the  role  of  sphinx ; for  sooner  or 
later  you  are  sure  to  get  the  better  of  me.  Relieve  me  of 


360 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


anxiety,  and  if  it  is  a jest  indeed,  let  me  judge  the  evil 
of  it.” 

“ Evil,  Countess  ! it  is,  on  the  contrary,  excellent ! ” 
cried  Richelieu ; “it  is  not  mine,  but  yours,  be  it  un- 
derstood.” 

“ I am  not  at  all  concerned  in  it,  Marshal,”  said  Ma- 
dame Dubarry,  biting  her  lips  with  an  impatience  which 
her  little  rebellious  foot  betrayed  still  more. 

“ Come,  come,  no  pride,  Countess  ! ” continued  Riche- 
lieu. “ It  is  very  good ; you  have  feared  that  the  king 
would  become  attached  to  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney. 
Oh,  do  not  dispute  it ! I have  had  evidence  of  it.” 

“ Oh,  it  is  true  ! I do  not  deny  it.” 

“ Well,  fearing  this,  you  wished  on  your  part  to  pique 
the  king  as  much  as  possible.” 

“ I do  not  deny  it.  Then  ? ” 

“We  are  coming  to  it,  Countess.  But  to  pique  his 
Majesty,  who  is  rather  thick-skinned,  you  needed  a very 
sharp  thorn 1 — Ah,  ah,  ah  ! upon  my  word,  what  a 
wretched  pun  escaped  me ! Do  you  understand  'l  ” and 
the  marshal  begun  to  laugh,  or  to  feign  to  laugh,  bois- 
terously, so  that  he  could  better  observe,  while  con- 
vulsed with  that  hilarity,  the  very  anxious  faces  of  his 
victims. 

“ What  play  of  words  do  you  find  in  that,  uncle  ? ” 
asked  D’Aiguillon,  the  first  to  recover  composure,  and 
affecting  simplicity. 

“ Y ou  have  not  understood  it  ? ” said  the  marshal. 
“ Ah,  so  much  the  better ! it  was  execrable.  Well,  I 
mean  that  Madame  la  Comtesse  had  wished  to  make  the 
king  jealous,  and  that  she  had  chosen  for  this  purpose  a 
nobleman  who  is  handsome,  witty,  — in  short,  a marvel  of 
Nature.” 


1 French:  aiguillon. 


MONSIEUR  DE  RICHELIEU’S  WORD-PLAY.  361 


“ Who  says  that  ] ” cried  the  countess,  furious,  like  all 
those  who  are  powerful  and  in  the  wrong. 

“ Who  says  that  ] — why,  everybody,  Madame.” 

“ Everybody  means  nobody ; you  know  it  very  well, 
Duke.” 

“On  the  contrary,  Madame,  everybody  means  one  hun- 
dred thousand  people  in  Versailles  alone;  it  means  six 
hundred  thousand  in  Paris  ; it  means  twenty-five  millions 
in  France  ; and  you  will  see  that  I am  not  counting  the 
Hague,  Hamburg,  Eotterdam,  London,  Berlin,  where  there 
are  as  many  newspapers,  in  proportion,  as  in  Paris.” 

“And  they  say  in  Versailles,  in  Paris,  in  France,  in  the 
Hague,  in  Hamburg,  in  Rotterdam,  in  London,  and  in 
Berlin  — ]” 

“ Well,  they  say  that  you  are  the  most  intellectual,  the 
most  charming  woman  in  Europe  ; they  say  that,  thanks 
to  that  ingenious  stratagem  of  seeming  to  have  secured  a 
lover  — ” 

“ A lover  ! and  what  foundation  has  that  stupid  accusa- 
tion, I should  like  to  know  ] ” 

“ Accusation  ! what  do  you  mean,  Countess  ] Admira- 
tion ! They  know  there  is  nothing  at  the  bottom  of  it  all, 
but  they  admire  the  stratagem.  Upon  what  is  this  admi- 
ration, this  enthusiasm  founded  1 Why  upon  your  manner, 
sparkling  with  intelligence  ; upon  your  skilful  tact ; upon 
your  having  pretended,  with  wonderful  art,  to  remain  alone 
that  night,  — you  know,  the  night  when  I was  at  your 
bouse,  when  the  king  was  at  your  house,  and  when  Mon- 
sieur d’Aiguillon  was  at  your  house ; the  night  when  I left 
first,  when  the  king  went  out  second,  and  Monsieur  d’Ai- 
guillon  the  third  — ” 

“ Well ! go  on.” 

“Upon  your  having  pretended  to  stay  alone  with  D’Ai- 
guillon,  as  if  he  were  your  lover ; to  send  him  out  quietly 


362 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


in  the  morning  from  Luciennes,  also  as  if  he  were  your 
lover ; and  in  such  a way  that  two  or  three  fools,  two  or 
three  gulls,  like  me  for  example,  might  see  it  and  cry  it 
from  the  house-tops ; so  that  the  king  would  know,  would 
take  fright,  and  not  to  lose  you  would  quickly  leave  the 
little  Taverney.” 

Madame  Dubarry  and  D’ Aiguillon  could  no  longer  retain 
their  composure.  Richelieu  troubled  them  neither  by 
looks  nor  by  gestures ; on  the  contrary,  his  snuff-box  and 
his  frill  seemed  to  absorb  all  his  attention.  “In  short,” 
continued  the  marshal,  playing  with  his  shirt-frill,  “ it 
appears  that  the  king  has  certainly  left  that  little  one.” 

“ Duke,”  replied  Madame  Dubarry,  “ I declare  that  I 
do  not  comprehend  one  word  of  all  your  imaginings ; and 
I am  sure  of  one  thing,  that  if  the  king  should  be  ques- 
tioned about  it,  he  would  not  comprehend  it  any  better.” 

“ Really ! ” said  the  duke. 

“Yes,  really ; and  you  attribute  to  me,  and  the  world 
attributes  to  me  more  imaginative  faculty  than  I possess. 
I have  never  wished  to  excite  the  jealousy  of  his  Majesty 
by  the  means  of  which  you  speak.” 

“ Countess  ! ” 

“ I swear  it.” 

“ Countess,  perfect  diplomacy, — and  there  are  no  better 
diplomatists  than  women,  — perfect  diplomacy  never  con- 
fesses failure;  for  there  is  an  anxiom  in  politics  — I know 
it,  who  have  been  an  ambassador  — which  says,  ‘ Do  not 
communicate  to  any  one  the  means  which  has  brought 
you  success  once,  for  it  may  bring  you  success  twice.1  ” 

“ But  Duke  — ” 

“The  means  has  succeeded,  that  is  all,  and  the  king 
is  on  very  bad  terms  with  the  whole  Taverney  family.” 
“But,  indeed,  Duke,”  cried  Madame  Dubarry,  “you 
have  a way  of  supposing  things  peculiar  to  yourself.” 


MONSIEUR  DE  RICHELIEU’S  WORD-PLAY.  363 


“ Ah,  you  do  not  believe  that  the  king  is  at  variance 
with  the  Taverney  family  ] ” said  Richelieu,  eluding  a 
quarrel. 

“ That  is  not  what  I mean.” 

Richelieu  tried  to  take  the  countess’s  hand.  “You  are 
a bird,”  said  he. 

" And  you  are  a serpent.” 

“ Ah,  very  good ! I shall  be  eager  to  bring  you  good 
news  again,  if  I am  to  be  rewarded  in  this  way.” 

“ Be  undeceived,  uncle,”  said  D’Aiguillon,  quickly,  who 
had  understood  the  full  significance  of  this  manoeuvre  of 
Richelieu,  “ no  one  appreciates  you  so  highly  as  Madame 
la  Comtesse,  and  she  was  saying  so  to  me  at  the  very 
moment  when  you  were  announced.” 

“The  fact  is,”  said  the  marshal,  “that  I am  very  fond 
of  my  friends ; also  I wished  to  be  the  first  to  bring  you 
the  assurance  of  your  triumph,  Countess.  Do  you  know 
that  Taverney  the  father  wished  to  sell  his  daughter  to  the 
king  1 ” 

“ It  has  been  done,  I think,”  said  Madame  Dubarry. 

“ Oh,  Countess,  how  crafty  that  man  is  ! it  is  he  who 
is  the  serpent.  Imagine  it ! I was  lulled  to  sleep  by 
stories  of  friendship,  of  old  comradeship  in  arms.  Any 
one  can  lead  me  by  my  affections.  And  then  to  think 
that  this  rural  Aristides  should  come  straight  to  Paris  to 
cut  the  grass  under  the  feet  of  Jean  Dubarry,  one  of  the 
brightest  of  men  ! It  has  indeed  required  all  my  devo- 
tion to  your  interests,  Countess,  to  give  me  a little  good 
sense  and  penetration  ; upon  my  honor  I was  blind — ” 

“ And  according  to  what  you  say  it  is  all  over  then  1 ” 
asked  Madame  Dubarry. 

“ Oh,  entirely,  I assure  you  ; I have  handled  this  worthy 
purveyor  so  roughly  that  there  is  probably  no  more  fight 
in  him,  and  we  are  now  masters  of  the  situation.” 


364 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ But  the  king  ? ” 

“The  king?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Upon  three  points  I have  confessed  his  Majesty.” 

“ The  first  ? ” 

“ The  father.” 

“ The  second  V’ 

“The  daughter.” 

“ And  the  third  ? ” 

“ The  son.  Now  his  Majesty  has  condescended  to  call 
the  father  a — pander  ; his  daughter  an  impertinent  minx ; 
and  as  for  the  son,  his  Majesty  has  not  called  him  any- 
thing for  he  did  not  even  remember  him.” 

“Very  well,  we  are  now  rid  of  the  whole  brood.” 

“ I think  so.” 

“ Is  it  worth  while  to  send  that  fellow  back  to  his  hole  ? ” 
“ I think  not;  they  are  reduced  to  extremities.” 

“ And  you  say  that  this  son,  to  whom  the  king  had 
promised  a regiment  — ? ” 

“ Ah,  you  have  a better  memory  than  the  king,  Coun- 
tess. It  is  true  that  Monsieur  Philippe  is  a very  pretty 
boy,  who  sends  you  killing  glances.  Indeed  ! he  is  neither 
colonel,  nor  captain,  nor  brother  of  the  favorite  ; but  at 
least  he  has  been  distinguished  by  you.” 

In  saying  this,  the  old  duke  was  trying  to  tear  the  heart 
of  his  nephew  with  jealousy,  but  Monsieur  d’Aiguillon 
was  not  thinking  of  jealousy  ; he  was  trying  to  account 
for  the  actions  of  the  old  marshal,  and  to  discover  the  real 
motive  for  his  return.  After  some  reflections  he  hoped 
that  the  wind  of  favor  alone  had  brought  Bichelieu  to 
Luciennes.  He  made  a sign  to  Madame  Dubarry  which 
the  old  duke  saw  in  a pier-glass  while  adjusting  his  wig, 
and  immediately  the  countess  invited  Bichelieu  to  take 
chocolate  with  her. 


MONSIEUR  DE  RICHELIEU'S  WORD-PLAY.  365 


D’Aiguillon  took  leave  with  a thousand  expressions  of 
endearment  for  his  uncle  which  were  returned  by  Riche- 
lieu. The  latter  remained  alone  with  the  countess  before 
the  round  table  which  Zamore  had  just  spread. 

The  old  marshal  observed  all  this  manoeuvring  of  the 
favorite,  saying  in  a low  tone,  “ Were  I twenty  years 
younger  I should  now  be  looking  at  the  clock,  saying,  ‘ In 
one  hour  I shall  be  a minister/  and  I should  be  one. 
What  a foolish  thing  life  is,”  he  continued,  all  the  time 
speaking  to  himself ; “ during  the  first  part  one  gives  the 
body  to  the  service  of  the  mind  ; during  the  second  the 
mind,  which  alone  has  survived,  becomes  the  servant  of 
the  body  ; it  is  absurd.” 

“ Dear  Marshal,”  said  the  countess,  interrupting  the  pri- 
vate monologue  of  her  guest,  “ now  that  we  are  good  friends, 
and  especially  since  we  are  by  ourselves,  tell  me  why  you 
gave  yourself  so  much  trouble  to  put  that  little  piece  of 
affectation  into  the  king’s  bed.” 

“Upon  my  word,  Countess,”  replied  Richelieu,  sipping 
his  cup  of  chocolate,  “ that  is  what  I asked  myself  I 
know  nothing  about  it.” 


366 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


4 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  RETURN. 

Monsieur  de  Richelieu  knew  what  course  Philippe  would 
take,  and  he  might  safely  have  foretold  his  return ; for 
that  morning,  setting  out  from  Versailles  to  go  to  Lu- 
ciennes,  he  had  met  him  on  the  high-road  going  toward 
Trianon,  and  had  passed  near  enough  to  observe  on  his 
countenance  indications  of  sadness  and  anxiety. 

Philippe,  indeed,  forgotten  at  Rheims,  first  having 
passed  through  every  degree  of  favor,  then  of  indifference 
and  neglect ; Philippe,  bored  at  first  by  expressions  of 
friendship  from  the  officers  jealous  of  his  advancement, 
then  by  attentions  even  from  his  superiors,  — Philippe,  in 
proportion  as  disfavor  had  tarnished  with  its  breath  this 
brilliant  fortune,  was  disgusted  to  see  friendships  changed 
to  coldness,  and  civility  to  rudeness ; and  in  this  refined 
soul,  sorrow  had  taken  on  the  characteristic  of  regret. 

Philippe  regretted  very  much  his  lieutenantship  at 
Strasburg,  now  that  the  dauphiness  had  come  to  France  ; 
he  regretted  his  good  friends,  his  equals,  his  comrades ; he 
regretted  especially  the  quiet  and  pure  private  life  of  the 
paternal  home,  about  the  fireside  of  which  La  Brie  was 
the  grand  priest.  All  trouble  found  consolation  in  silence 
and  forgetfulness,  — that  sleep  of  active  minds  ; then  in 
the  solitude  of  Taverney,  which  bore  witness  to  the  decay 
of  things  as  well  as  to  the  ruin  of  individuals,  there  was 
something  philosophical  which  spoke  powerfully  to  the 
heart  of  the  young  man. 


THE  RETURN. 


367 


But  Philippe  above  all  felt  the  loss  of  his  sister’s  com- 
panionship, and  of  her  judgment,  always  so  correct,  — a 
judgment  born  of  elevation  of  mind  rather  than  the  result 
of  experience ; for  it  is  a remarkable  and  conspicuous  char- 
acteristic of  noble  souls  that  they  soar  involuntarily,  and 
by  nature  even,  above  the  vulgar  crowd,  and  often  on  ac- 
count of  their  very  elevation  they  escape  the  wounds  and 
snares  which  all  the  cleverness  of  human  insects  of  a lower 
order  cannot  always  avoid,  however  accustomed  they  may 
be  to  manoeuvre,  to  craft,  to  contemplation  of  low  thoughts. 

As  soon  as  Philippe  had  felt  ennui,  discouragement  over- 
took him,  and  the  young  man  became  so  unhappy  in  his 
loneliness  that  he  could  not  believe  that  Andr^e,  that  half 
of  himself,  could  be  happy  at  Versailles  when  he,  the  half 
of  Andree,  was  suffering  so  cruelly  at  Eheims. 

He  wrote  then  to  the  baron  the  letter  with  which  we  are 
acquainted,  and  in  which  he  announced  his  approaching 
return.  This  letter  surprised  no  one,  especially  not  the 
baron  ; what  did  surprise  him,  on  the  contrary,  was  that 
Philippe  had  had  patience  to  wait  so  long,  when  he  him- 
self was  very  anxious,  and  for  fifteen  days  had  begged 
Richelieu,  every  time  he  saw  him,  to  hasten  the  progress  of 
his  affairs. 

Philippe,  not  having  received  the  commission  within  the 
time  which  he  himself  had  allowed,  took  leave  of  his  offi- 
cers without  seeming  to  notice  their  disdain  and  their  sar- 
casms, — disdain,  and  sarcasms  quite  hidden  under  a veil 
of  politeness,  which  was  still  at  that  period  a French  vir- 
tue, and  restrained  by  the  natural  respect  which  a brave 
man  always  inspires. 

Consequently  at  the  hour  when  he  had  determined  to 
depart,  — the  hour  up  to  which  he  had  awaited  his  com- 
mission with  more  fear  than  desire  for  its  coming,  — he 
mounted  his  horse  and  took  the  road  to  Paris. 


368 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


The  three  days’  journey  which  he  had  before  him 
looked  very  long,  and  as  he  proceeded  on  his  way,  his 
father’s  silence  toward  him,  and  especially  that  of  his 
sister  who  had  promised  faithfully  to  write  to  him  at 
least  twice  a week,  assumed  an  ominous  significance. 

We  have  said  that  Philippe  arrived  about  noon  at 
Versailles,  just  as  Monsieur  de  Richelieu  was  leaving 
it.  Philippe  had  travelled  a part  of  the  night,  having 
slept  only  a few  hours  at  Melun  ; he  was  so  preoccupied 
that  he  did  not  see  Monsieur  de  Richelieu  in  his  carriage, 
and  did  not  even  recognize  his  livery.  He  went  straight 
to  the  railing  in  the  park  where  he  had  bade  Andree 
good-by  on  the  day  of  his  departure,  when  the  young  girl 
without  any  cause  for  distress,  since  the  prosperity  of  the 
family  was  at  its  height,  felt  mounting  to  her  brain  the 
prophetic  sense  of  an  incomprehensible  sorrow. 

Philippe  too  on  that  day  had  been  affected  by  a super- 
stitious sympathy  with  Andree’s  griefs.  But  gradually 
his  mind,  having  recovered  command  of  itself,  had  shaken 
off  the  burden  ; and  by  a strange  chance  it  was  he,  Phi- 
lippe, who  now  without  reason,  after  all,  returned  to  the 
same  place,  a prey  to  the  same  fears,  and  without  finding, 
alas ! even  in  his  thought,  consolation  for  that  insuperable 
sadness,  which,  having  no  cause,  seemed  like  a presenti- 
ment. When  his  horse  stepped  upon  the  flint  stones  of 
the  pavement  with  a clatter  of  his  hoofs,  some  one, 
attracted  doubtless  by  this  sound,  came  out  from  the 
trimmed  hedge-rows.  It  was  Gilbert,  holding  in  his  hand 
a pruning-bill.  The  gardener  recognized  his  old  master. 
Philippe  also  recognized  Gilbert. 

Gilbert  had  been  wandering  about  in  this  way  for  a 
month  ; like  a soul  in  trouble,  he  knew  not  where  to  stop. 
On  that  day  with  his  usual  cleverness  in  the  execution  of 
his  designs,  he  was  occupied  in  choosing  points  of  view  in 


THE  RETURN. 


369 


the  alleys  where  he  might  see  the  pavilion  or  the  window 
of  Andree,  and  have  constant  watch  upon  that  house  with- 
out any  one  noticing  his  preoccupation,  his  tremblings,  and 
his  sighs. 

With  pruning-bill  in  hand  to  keep  up  appearances  he 
ran  through  copse  and  parterre,  cutting  here  the  branches 
laden  with  flowers,  under  pretext  of  trimming,  stripping 
there  the  sound  bark  from  the  young  lindens,  under  pre- 
text of  getting  resin  and  gum  ; at  the  same  time  ever 
listening,  ever  watching,  wishing,  and  regretting. 

The  young  man  had  become  very  pale  in  the  month 
just  passed  ; his  face  no  longer  showed  signs  of  youth,  ex- 
cept by  the  strange  fire  of  his  eyes  and  the  dead  and 
smooth  whiteness  of  his  complexion  ; but  his  mouth  shriv- 
elled by  dissimulation,  his  furtive  glance,  the  trembling 
of  the  muscles  of  his  face,  belonged  to  the  more  sombre 
years  of  ripe  age.  Gilbert  had  recognized  Philippe,  as  we 
have  said ; and  on  recognizing  him,  he  turned  to  go  back 
into  the  hedge-row.  But  Philippe  rode  toward  him,  cry- 
ing out,  “ Gilbert  ! I say,  Gilbert  ! ” 

Gilbert’s  first  thought  had  been  to  fly  ; a second  more 
and  the  vertigo  of  terror,  and  that  delirium,  impossible  to 
explain,  which  the  ancients  who  sought  a cause  for  every- 
thing attributed  to  the  god  Pan,  would  have  seized  upon 
him  and  dragged  him  like  a madman  through  the  paths, 
through  the  shrubbery,  through  the  hedge-rows,  even  into 
the  ponds. 

A word  full  of  sweetness  spoken  by  Philippe  was  for- 
tunately heard  and  comprehended  by  the  furious  fellow. 

“ You  do  not  recognize  me,  then,  Gilbert  'l  ” cried 
Philippe  to  him. 

Gilbert  saw  his  folly  and  stopped  short.  Then  he 
turned  back,  but  slowly  and  defiantly.  “ No,  Monsieur  le 
Chevalier,”  said  he,  trembling,  “ no,  I did  not  recognize 

vol.  m.  — 24 


370 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


you  ; I had  taken  you  for  one  of  the  guards,  and  as  I am 
not  at  my  work  I had  feared  to  be  seen  here,  and  reported 
for  punishment.” 

Philippe  was  satisfied  with  the  explanation,  jumped  to 
the  ground,  put  the  horse’s  bridle  over  his  arm,  and  placing 
the  other  hand  upon  Gilbert’s  shoulder,  who  shuddered  visi- 
bly, asked,  “ What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Gilbert  9” 

“ Nothing,  Monsieur,”  replied  the  latter. 

Philippe  smiled  sadly.  “ You  do  not  like  us,  Gilbert,” 
said  he. 

The  young  man  shuddered  again. 

“ Yes,  I know,”  continued  Philippe ; “ my  father  has 
treated  you  unjustly  and  harshly;  but  I,  Gilbert V9 

“ Oh,  you  — ” murmured  the  young  man. 

“ I have  always  loved  you,  and  upheld  you.” 

“ It  is  true.” 

“ So,  forget  the  evil  in  the  good ; my  sister  has  also 
been  good  to  you.” 

“ Oh,  no,  — as  to  that,  — no,”  the  young  man  replied 
quickly,  with  an  incomprehensible  expression  ; for  it  in- 
cluded an  accusation  against  Andree,  and  an  excuse  for 
himself.  It  flashed  out  like  pride,  while  it  groaned  like 
remorse. 

“ Yes,  yes,”  said  Philippe,  in  his  turn,  — “ yes,  I know 
my  sister  is  rather  haughty,  but  she  is  good  at  heart.” 
Then  after  a pause,  — for  all  this  conversation  was  only 
delaying  an  interview  which  he  looked  forward  to  with 
gloomy  forebodings,  — “ Do  you  know  where  my  good 
Andree  is  at  this  moment,  Gilbert?” 

This  name  smote  Gilbert’s  heart  painfully ; he  answered, 
with  choking  voice,  “ At  home,  Monsieur,  I suppose,  — 
how  should  I know  ? ” 

“Alone  as  usual,  with  nothing  to  amuse  her;  poor 
sister  ! ” interrupted  Philippe. 


THE  RETURN. 


371 


“ Alone  at  this  moment,  yes,  Monsieur,  most  probably ; 
for  since  the  flight  of  Nicole  — - ” 

“ What ! Nicole  has  fled  'l ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur,  with  her  lover.” 

“ With  her  lover  ? ” 

“ At  least,  I presume  so,”  said  Gilbert,  who  saw  that 
he  had  gone  too  far.  “That  is  the  common  report.” 
“But,  indeed,  Gilbert,”  said  Philippe,  more  and  more 
uneasy,  “ I do  not  understand  it  at  all.  I have  to  drag 
the  words  from  you.  Be  a little  more  agreeable.  You 
have  intelligence,  and  you  are  not  wanting  in  natural  dis- 
tinction of  manner  ; come,  do  not  spoil  these  good  qualities 
by  an  affected  unsociableness,  by  a gruffness  which  suits 
neither  your  station  in  life  nor  any  other.” 

“ But  I do  not  know  all  that  you  ask  me,  Monsieur ; 
and  when  you  think  of  it,  you  will  see  that  I cannot 
know  it.  I work  all  day  in  the  gardens,  and  how  can  I 
know  what  they  are  doing  at  the  chateau  1 ” 

“ Gilbert,  Gilbert,  I thought  that  you  had  eyes.” 

“II” 

“ Yes,  and  that  you  would  take  an  interest  in  all  who 
bear  my  name ; for  however  poor  the  hospitality  of  Taver- 
ney  may  have  been,  you  at  least  shared  it.” 

“ So  I do  take  great  interest  in  you,  Monsieur  Philippe,” 
said  Gilbert,  in  a voice  harsh  and  rough ; for  the  gentle- 
ness of  Philippe,  and  another  sentiment  which  the  latter 
could  not  divine,  had  softened  this  fierce  heart.  “ Yes,  I 
like  you,  you  ; that  is  why  I will  tell  you  that  Mademoi- 
selle, your  sister,  is  very  ill.” 

“ Very  ill,  my  sister  ! ” Philippe  burst  out,  — “ very  ill, 
my  sister,  very  ill  ! and  you  did  not  tell  me  so  at  once ! ” 
And  immediately  abandoning  his  slow  pace  for  a quicker 
one,  “ What  is  the  matter  with  her,  mon  Dieu  V * he 
asked. 


372 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Indeed,”  said  Gilbert,  “ nobody  knows.” 

u But  what  is  it  ? ” 

Si  Only  that  she  has  fainted  three  times  to-day  in  the 
garden,  and  that,  early  as  it  is,  the  doctor  of  Madame  la 
Dauphine  has  already  visited  her,  and  Monsieur  le  Baron 
also.” 

Philippe  heard  no  more.  His  forebodings  were  realized  ; 
and  confronted  with  real  danger,  all  his  courage  had  re- 
turned to  him.  He  left  his  horse  in  Gilbert’s  hands,  and 
went  hastily  toward  the  offices. 

As  for  Gilbert,  left  alone,  he  quickly  led  the  horse  to 
the  stable,  and  fled,  like  those  wild  or  noxious  birds  which 
can  never  stay  within  range  of  man. 


/ 


BROTHER  AND  SISTER. 


373 


CHAPTEE  XLI. 

BROTHER  AND  SISTER. 

Philippe  found  his  sister  lying  on  the  little  sofa  of  which 
we  have  already  had  occasion  to  speak. 

On  entering  the  antechamber,  the  young  man  noticed 
that  Andree  had  carefully  put  away  all  the  flowers,  — she 
who  was  so  fond  of  them  ; for  since  her  sickness  the  fra- 
grance of  the  flowers  had  caused  her  unbearable  pains, 
and  she  attributed  to  this  irritation  the  affection  of  the 
cerebral  fibres  which  had  lasted  now  fifteen  days. 

When  Philippe  entered,  Andree  was  dreaming ; her 
beautiful  brow  was  clouded,  and  her  eyes  moved  pain- 
fully in  the  sockets.  Her  hands  were  hanging  down, 
and  although  in  this  situation  the  blood  would  naturally 
flow  into  them,  they  were  as  white  as  those  of  a wax 
statue.  So  motionless  was  she  that  she  seemed  lifeless, 
and  it  was  necessary  to  hear  her  breathe  to  be  sure  that 
she  was  not  dead. 

Philippe  had  walked  more  rapidly  after  Gilbert  had 
told  him  that  his  sister  was  sick,  so  that  he  was  almost 
breathless  when  he  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  But 
there  he  had  stopped,  his  reason  had  returned  to  him, 
and  he  had  ascended  the  stairs  with  a calmer  step ; so  that 
at  the  threshold  of  the  chamber  he  trod  as  noiselessly  and 
quietly  as  if  he  had  been  a sylph.  He  wished  to  examine 
for  himself  the  illness  by  its  symptoms,  with  the  solici- 
tude characteristic  of  those  who  love ; he  knew  that 
Andree  was  so  tender  and  good,  that,  as  soon  as  she  had 


374 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


seen  him,  she  would  assume  such  a conduct  and  demeanor 
as  not  to  alarm  him. 

He  went  in,  opening  the  glass-door  so  gently  that 
Andree  did  not  hear  him,  and  was  in  the  middle  of  the 
chamber  before  she  suspected  anything. 

Philippe  had  therefore  time  to  look  at  her,  to  notice  how 
pale,  how  motionless,  how  lifeless  she  was ; he  perceived 
the  strange  expression  of  her  eyes,  which  were  sunk  in 
deep  hollows  3 and  more  alarmed  than  he  had  thought 
possible,  he  discovered  that  the  sufferings  of  his  sister 
were  in  a great  degree  of  a moral  nature.  At  this  sight, 
which  sent  a chill  to  his  heart,  he  could  not  restrain  a 
movement  of  fright. 

Andree  looked  up,  and  uttering  a loud  cry  she  stood  up 
like  a dead  person  come  to  life,  and  in  her  turn  panting 
for  breath,  ran  to  throw  her  arms  around  her  brother’s 
neck. 

“You,  you,  Philippe  ! ” said  she ; and  her  strength  left 
her  before  she  could  say  anything  more.  Besides,  what 
else  could  she  say,  when  that  was  all  her  thought  1 

“Yes,  yes,  I,”  replied  Philippe,  embracing  and  sup- 
porting her,  for  he  felt  her  sinking  within  his  arms,  — “ I, 
who  come  back  to  find  you  sick  ! Ah,  poor  sister,  what 
is  the  matter  with  you  1 ” 

Andree  began  to  laugh  in  a nervous  way,  which  trou- 
bled Philippe  instead  of  reassuring  him,  as  the  invalid 
had  wished. 

“ Do  you  ask  what  is  the  matter  with  me?  Do  I look 
sick,  then,  Philippe  'l  ” 

“ Oh,  yes,  Andree  ! you  are  very  pale,  and  you  tremble 
all  over.” 

“ But  where  have  you  seen  that,  brother  ? I am  not 
even  indisposed ; who  has  informed  you  so  incorrectly  1 
Who  has  been  so  foolish  as  to  frighten  you  1 But  indeed 


BROTHER  AND  SISTER. 


375 


I do  not  know  what  you  mean ; and  I am  remarkably 
well,  with  the  exception  of  some  slight  attacks  of  dizziness, 
which  will  pass  away  as  they  came.” 

“ Oh  ! but  you  are  so  pale,  Andree  — ” 

“ Have  I,  then,  usually  much  color  1 ” 

“ No  ; but  you  are  alive  at  least,  while  to-day  — ” 

“ It  is  nothing.” 

“ See,  see ! your  hands,  which  a little  while  ago  were 
burning,  are  now  as  cold  as  ice.” 

“ It  is  very  simple,  Philippe ; when  I saw  you  enter  — ” 
“ Well  ] ” 

" I felt  a lively  sensation  of  joy,  and  the  blood  went  to 
my  heart,  that  is  all.” 

“ But  you  totter,  Andree ; you  lean  upon  me.” 

“ No ; I am  embracing  you,  that  is  all.  Do  you  not 
wish  me  to  embrace  you,  Philippe  h ” 

“ Oh,  dear  Andree  ! ” and  he  pressed  the  young  girl  to 
his  heart. 

At  that  very  moment  Andree  felt  her  strength  leaving 
her  again;  in  vain  she  tried  to  cling  to  her  brother’s 
neck,  her  hand  slipped,  stiff,  and  almost  inanimate,  and 
she  fell  back  on  the  sofa  whiter  than  the  muslin  curtains 
upon  which  her  charming  figure  was  outlined. 

“You  see,  you  see  that  you  deceive  me ! ” cried 
Philippe.  “ Ah,  dear  sister,  you  are  suffering,  you  are 
ill  ! ” 

“ The  flask ! ” murmured  Andree,  forcing  upon  her 
countenance  a smile  which  he  would  remember  to  his 
dying  day.  And  her  feeble  glance,  and  hand  raised  with 
pain,  pointed  out  to  Philippe  a flask  on  the  little  desk  by 
the  window. 

Philippe  rushed  toward  it,  his  eyes  fixed  on  his  sister 
whom  he  dreaded  to  leave.  Then  opening  the  window  he 
came  back  and  put  the  flask  to  her  pinched  nostrils. 


376 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ There,  there/1  said  she,  inhaling  in  long  draughts  air 
and  life,  “ you  see  that  I am  revived.  Come,  do  you 
think  I am  very  sick  ? Speak.” 

But  Philippe  did  not  even  think  of  answering,  he  was 
looking  at  his  sister.  Andree  recovered  gradually,  sat 
up  on  the  sofa,  took  in  her  moist  hands  Philippe’s  trem- 
bling hand,  and  her  face  taking  on  a softened  expression, 
the  blood  mounting  to  her  cheeks,  she  appeared  more 
beautiful  than  she  had  ever  been. 

“ Ah,  moth  Dieu  !”  said  she  ; “ you  see,  Philippe,  it  is 
over,  and  I am  sure  that  but  for  the  surprise  which  you 
gave  me  with  such  good  intention,  the  spasms  would  not 
have  returned,  and  I should  have  been  well ; but  coming 
so  suddenly  before  me,  you  know,  Philippe  (before  me 
who  love  you  so  much),  — you  who  are  the  moving  power, 
the  substance  of  my  life,  — why,  that  was  enough  to  kill 
me,  even  if  I had  been  strong.” 

“ Yes,  all  that  is  very  pleasant  and  very  charming, 
Andrfee ; meanwhile  tell  me,  I beg  you,  to  what  you  attri- 
bute this  illness  ? ” 

“ How  do  I know,  dear  ? To  the  return  of  spring,  the 
season  of  flowers.  You  know  how  nervous  I am;  yesterday 
the  odor  of  the  Persian  lilacs  suffocated  me.  You  know 
what  an  intoxicating  perfume  is  exhaled  from  those  mag- 
nificent plumes  which  sway  in  the  early  breezes  of  spring  ; 
well,  yesterday  — Oh,  mon  Dieu  ! Philippe,  I do  not 
wish  to  think  of  it,  for  I am  afraid  the  illness  will  return.” 
“ Yes,  you  are  right,  and  perhaps  it  is  that ; flowers  are 
very  harmful  sometimes.  Do  you  remember  that  when  a 
child  at  Taverney  I took  it  into  my  head  to  surround  my 
bed  with  a border  of  cut  lilacs  ? It  was  pretty  as  an  altar 
we  both  said  ; but  the  next  day  I did  not  wake  up,  you 
know,  and  everybody  thought  me  dead  except  you,  who 
would  not  believe  that  I could  leave  you  without  saying 


BROTHER  AND  SISTER. 


377 


good-by  ; and  it  was  you  alone,  poor  Andree,  — you  were 
six  years  old  at  that  time,  — it  was  you  alone  who  revived 
me  with  kisses  and  tears.” 

“ And  air,  Philippe,  for  it  is  air  that  one  needs  in  such 
a case ; I seem  never  to  have  air  enough.” 

“ Ah,  sister,  sister  ! you  have  forgotten  all  about  that ; 
you  have  had  flowers  brought  into  your  chamber  ! ” 

“No,  Philippe,  no  indeed;  for  fifteen  days  there  has 
not  been  even  an  Easter  daisy  here ! What  a strange 
thing  ! I who  loved  flowers  so  much,  now  hold  them  in 
abhorrence.  But  let  us  leave  the  flowers  alone.  Then  I 
have  had  headache ; Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  has  had 
headache,  dear  Philippe,  and  what  a fortunate  person  this 
Demoiselle  de  Taverney  is  ! for  on  account  of  this  head- 
ache which  brought  on  a fainting-fit,  both  the  court  and 
the  town  have  become  interested  in  her  condition.” 

“ How  is  that  1 ” 

“ To  be  sure,  Madame  la  Dauphine  has  been  kind 
enough  to  come  to  see  me,  — oh,  Philippe  what  a charm- 
ing protectress  and  refined  friend  Madame  la  Dauphine 
is  ! She  has  taken  care  of  me,  nursed  me,  brought  me  her 
own  physician,  and  when  that  grave  personage,  whose 
decrees  are  infallible,  felt  my  pulse,  looked  at  my  eyes  and 
tongue,  — can  you  think  of  the  latest  piece  of  good  for- 
tune which  has  befallen  me  ? ” 

“ No.” 

“Well,  it  was  proved  unqualifiedly  that  I was  not  sick 
the  least  in  the  world ; Doctor  Louis  did  not  think  it  ne- 
cessary to  order  me  a single  potion,  to  prescribe  me  a single 
pill,  — he  who,  it  is  said,  every  day  cuts  off  arms  and  legs 
which  it  makes  one  shudder  to  think  of.  So,  Philippe, 
you  see,  I am  remarkably  well.  Now  tell  me  who  has 
frightened  you?” 

“ It  is  that  little  fool  of  a Gilbert,  pardieu  /” 

“ Gilbert  1 ” said  Andree,  with  a gesture  of  impatience. 


378 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Yes,  he  told  me  that  you  were  very  sick.” 

“And  you  believed  that  little  idiot,  that  fellow  good 
for  nothing  but  to  do  or  speak  evil  ] ” 

“ Andree,  Andree  ! ” 

“ Well  ? ” 

“ You  are  growing  pale  again.” 

“No,  but  Gilbert  irritates  me ; it  is  not  enough  to  meet 
him  in  my  path,  but  I must  hear  him  spoken  of  when  he 
is  not  by.” 

“ Come,  you  are  going  to  faint  again.” 

“ Oh,  yes,  yes  ! mon  Lieu  ! But  it  is  as  — ” And 
Andr6e\s  lips  blanched,  and  her  voice  stopped. 

“ How  strange  this  is  ! ” murmured  Philippe. 

Andree  made  an  effort.  “No,  it  is  nothing,”  she  said  ; 
“do  not  mind  all  my  nervous  feelings.  See,  I am  stand- 
ing up,  Philippe ; if  you  agree,  we  will  take  a walk  to- 
gether, and  in  ten  minutes  I shall  be  well.” 

“ I think  you  are  mistaken  as  to  the  amount  of  your 
strength,  Andree.” 

“ No ; Philippe’s  return  would  bring  me  health  even  if 
I were  dying.  Shall  we  go  out,  Philippe  ] ” 

“ Presently,  dear  Andree,”  said  Philippe,  gently  detain- 
ing his  sister.  “You  have  not  wholly  reassured  me; 
wait  until  you  are  better.” 

“ Very  well.” 

Andree  fell  back  upon  the  sofa,  drawing  after  her  Phi- 
lippe, whose  hand  she  held.  “ And  why,”  she  continued, 
“ do  you  come  so  suddenly  without  sending  word  ] ” 

“ But  answer  me,  dear  Andree,  why  did  you  cease  writ- 
ing to  me]” 

“ It  is  only  a few  days  since  I wrote.” 

“ Almost  fifteen  days,  Andree.” 

Andree  bowed  her  head. 

“ Negligent  ! ” said  Philippe,  with  gentle  reproach. 
“No,  but  suffering,  Philippe.  Well,  you  are  right ; mj 


BROTHER  AND  SISTER. 


379 


illness  began  on  the  day  when  you  ceased  to  hear  from  me. 
Since  that  day  things  most  dear  have  wearied  me  and  been 
distasteful  to  me.” 

“ And  in  the  midst  of  all  this  I am  much  pleased  with 
what  you  have  just  said.” 

“ What  have  I said  h ” 

“ You  have  said  that  you  were  happy ; so  much  the 
better,  for  if  you  are  loved  and  respected,  it  is  not  so  with 
me.” 

“ With  you  ? ” 

“Yes,  with  me,  who  was  entirely  neglected  yonder, 
even  by  my  sister.” 

“ Oh,  Philippe  ! ” 

“ Could  you  believe,  my  dear  Andree,  that  since  my 
departure,  which  they  told  me  was  so  urgent,  I have  heard 
nothing  of  that  pretended  regiment  which  they  sent  me  to 
take  possession  of,  and  which  the  king  had  promised  me 
through  Monsieur  de  Eichelieu,  through  my  father,  evenl” 

“ Oh,  that  does  not  surprise  me,”  said  Andree. 

“ What ! that  does  not  surprise  you  h ” 

“ No.  If  you  knew,  Philippe  ! Monsieur  de  Richelieu 
and  my  father  are  unsettled  in  their  relations  with  each 
other ; they  seem  like  two  bodies  without  souls.  I do 
not  understand  the  life  of  such  people.  On  a certain 
morning  my  father  runs  over  to  see  his  old  friend,  as  he 
calls  him  ; he  sends  him  to  Versailles  to  see  the  king  ; 
then  he  returns  here  to  wait,  where  he  occupies  himself  in 
putting  to  me  questions  I do  not  understand.  The  day 
passes ; no  news.  Then  Monsieur  de  Taverney  enters  in 
great  anger.  The  duke  drives  him  away,  he  says  ; the 
duke  is  a traitor.  Whom  does  the  duke  betray  ? I ask 
you ; for  I know  nothing  about  it,  and  I confess  I have 
but  little  desire  to  understand  it.  Monsieur  de  Taverney 
lives  like  a lost  soul  in  purgatory,  expecting  always  some- 
thing which  does  not  happen,  — some  one  who  never  comes/’ 


380 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ But  the  king,  Andree,  the  king  ? ” 

“ What,  the  king1?  ” 

“ Yes,  the  king  ; so  well  disposed  toward  us.” 

Andree  looked  timidly  about  her. 

“ What  1 ” 

“ Listen  ! The  king  — let  us  speak  low  — I think  I 
am  very  whimsical,  Philippe.  His  Majesty  at  first  seemed 
to  be  interested  in  me  as  well  as  in  you,  our  father,  and 
the  family  ; but  suddenly  this  interest  grew  cold  without 
any  apparent  reason  for  it.  The  fact  is,  that  his  Majesty 
no  longer  looks  at  me,  — he  even  turns  his  back  on  me, 
— and  only  yesterday,  when  I fainted  in  the  garden  — ” 
“Ah,  you  see,  Gilbert  was  right;  you  did  faint  then, 
Andree  ? ” 

“ That  miserable  little  Monsieur  Gilbert  had  great  need 
to  tell  you  that,  indeed ; to  tell  everybody,  perhaps  ! 
What  concern  is  it  of  his  whether  I faint  or  not  ? I 
know  very  well,  dear  Philippe,”  added  Andree,  smiling, 
“ that  it  is  not  the  thing  to  faint  in  a royal  mansion ; but 
in  short,  one  does  not  faint  for  the  pleasure  of  it,  and  I 
did  not  do  it  on  purpose.” 

“ But  who  blames  you  for  it,  dear  sister? ” 

“ Eh  ! why,  the  king.” 

“ The  king  ? ” 

“ Yes,  his  Majesty  was  crossing  the  orchard  on  his  way 
from  Grand  Trianon  just  at  the  fatal  moment.  I was 
stretched  quite  senseless  on  a bench,  in  the  arms  of  good 
Monsieur  de  Jussieu,  who  was  helping  me  the  best  he 
could,  when  the  king  perceived  me.  You  know,  Philippe, 
fainting  does  not  take  away  all  perception,  all  conscious- 
ness of  what  is  passing  around  us.  Well,  when  the  king 
saw  me,  insensible  as  I seemed,  I noticed  a knitting  of  the 
eyebrows,  a look  of  anger,  and  I heard  some  very  disagree- 
able words  which  the  king  muttered  between  his  teeth  ; 
then  his  Majesty  hurried  off,  very  much  scandalized,  I 


BROTHER  AND  SISTER. 


381 


suppose,  that  I allowed  myself  to  he  ill  on  his  grounds. 
Indeed,  dear  Philippe,  it  was,  however,  not  my  fault.” 
“Poor  dear,”  said  Philippe,  pressing  affectionately  the 
hands  of  the  young  girl,  “ I believe,  indeed,  that  it  was 
not  your  fault ; and  then  1 ” 

“ That  is  all,  my  dear.  And  Monsieur  Gilbert  might 
have  spared  his  remarks.” 

“ Come,  now,  you  are  hard  on  the  poor  fellow.” 

“ Oh,  yes,  assume  his  defence,  — a charming  subject ! n 
“ Andree,  for  mercy’s  sake,  do  not  be  so  unkind  toward 
this  boy.  You  wound  him  ; you  treat  him  harshly.  I 
have  seen  you  doing  it  — Oh,  my  God ! Andree,  what 
is  the  matter  now  1 99 

This  time  Andree  had  fallen  backward  upon  the  sofa- 
cushions  without  uttering  a word.  This  time  the  flask 
could  not  revive  her ; it  was  necessary  to  wait  until  the 
swoon  was  over,  — until  circulation  was  restored. 

“ Decidedly,”  murmured  Philippe,  “ you  are  suffering, 
my  sister,  in  a way  to  frighten  persons  more  courageous 
than  I am  where  your  sufferings  are  concerned.  You  may 
say  what  you  please,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  you  ought 
not  to  treat  this  indisposition  so  lightly  as  you  do.” 

“ But,  indeed,  Philippe,  since  the  doctor  has  said  — ” 

“ The  doctor  does  not  convince,  and  will  never  convince 
me  ; I wish  I could  have  spoken  to  him  myself ! Where 
is  this  doctor  to  be  found  h ” 

“ He  comes  every  day  to  Trianon.” 
u But  at  what  hour  every  day  1 In  the  morning  ? ” 

“ Morning  and  evening,  when  he  is  in  attendance.” 

“ Is  he  on  duty  now  1 ” 

u Yes,  my  dear,  and  at  seven  in  the  evening  precisely, 
for  he  is  punctual,  he  will  ascend  the  flight  of  stairs  which 
leads  to  the  apartments  of  Madame  la  Dauphine.” 

“ Well,”  said  Philippe,  more  composed,  “ I will  wait 
here.” 


382 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

A MISUNDERSTANDING. 

Philippe  continued  the  conversation  unaffectedly,  mean- 
while secretly  observing  his  sister,  who  tried  to  gain 
command  over  herself  so  that  she  might  not  increase  his 
anxiety  by  new  fainting-fits. 

Philippe  spoke  much  of  his  disappointments,  of  the 
neglect  of  the  king,  the  inconstancy  of  Monsieur  de  Rich- 
elieu. And  when  he  heard  seven  o'clock  strike  he  went 
out  hastily,  troubling  himself  but  little  to  conceal  from 
Andree  what  he  was  about  to  do. 

He  went  straight  to  the  pavilion  of  the  queen,  and 
stopped  at  a distance  sufficient  to  prevent  his  being  ques- 
tioned by  persons  in  the  service  of  the  house,  but  so  near 
that  no  one  could  pass  without  being  recognized  by  him. 
In  about  five  minutes  he  saw  approaching  him  the  stately 
and  almost  majestic  figure  of  the  doctor,  whom  Andree 
had  described  to  him.  The  day  was  declining,  and  in 
spite  of  the  difficulty  he  found  in  reading,  the  worthy  doc- 
tor was  conning  a treatise  recently  published  at  Cologne 
upon  the  causes  and  results  of  paralysis  of  the  stomach. 
Darkness  was  gradually  settling  about  him  and  the  doctor 
was  already  guessing  rather  than  reading,  when  a moving 
and  opaque  body  shut  out  the  last  ray  of  light  from  the 
eyes  of  the  learned  practitioner.  He  looked  up,  saw  a man 
in  front  of  him,  and  asked,  “ What  is  the  matter  1 ” 

“ Pardon,  Monsieur ! ” said  Philippe  ; “ have  I the 
honor  of  speaking  to  Monsieur  le  Docteur  Louis  h ” 


A MISUNDERSTANDING. 


383 


“Yes,  Monsieur, ” replied  the  doctor,  shutting  his 
book. 

“ Then  a word  with  you,  Monsieur,  if  you  please ! ” 
said  Philippe. 

“ Monsieur,  excuse  me  ! It  is  the  hour  for  my  visit  to 
Madame  la  Dauphine,  and  I must  not  delay.” 

“ Monsieur,”  and  Philippe,  with  a gesture  of  entreaty, 
placed  himself  in  the  doctor’s  way,  — “ Monsieur,  the 
person  for  whom  I ask  your  aid  is  in  the  service  of 
Madame  la  Dauphine.  She  is  very  ill,  while  Madame  la 
Dauphine  is  not  ill  at  all.” 

“ In  the  first  place,  of  whom  are  you  speaking  * ” asked 
the  doctor. 

“ Of  a person  to  whom  you  have  been  introduced  by 
Madame  la  Dauphine  herself.” 

“ Ah,  ah  ! it  might  perhaps  be  Mademoiselle  de 
Taverney  *1  99 

“Precisely,  Monsieur.” 

“ Ah,  ah  ! ” said  the  doctor,  looking  up  quickly  to 
observe  the  young  man. 

“ You  know,  then,  that  she  is  very  sick  1 99 

“ Yes ; spasms,  is  it  not  1 ” 

“ Continual  swoons,  — yes,  Monsieur.  To-day,  in  the 
space  of  a few  hours,  she  has  fainted  three  or  four  times 
in  my  arms.” 

“ Is  the  young  lady  worse  'l 99 

“ Alas  ! I do  not  know ; but  you  understand,  Doctor, 
when  one  loves  — 99 

“ Do  you  love  Mademoiselle  Andree  de  Taverney  ? ” 

“ Oh,  more  than  my  life,  Doctor ! ” Philippe  pro- 
nounced these  words  with  such  exaltation  of  fraternal 
love,  that  Doctor  Louis  mistook  their  meaning. 

“ Ah,  ah  ! ” said  he,  “ it  is  you,  then  — ” The  doctor 
hesitated. 


384 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“What  do  yon  mean,  Monsieur?”  asked  Philippe. 

“ It  is  you,  then,  who  are  — ” 

“ Who  am  what,  Monsieur  ? ” 

“ Eh,  parbleu  / who  are  her  lover  ? 99  said  the  doctor, 
impatiently. 

Philippe  took  two  steps  backward,  putting  his  hand  to 
his  brow,  and  becoming  pale  as  death.  “ Monsieur,”  he 
said,  “ take  care  ; you  insult  my  sister  ! ” 

“ Your  sister  ! is  Mademoiselle  your  sister  1 99 
“ Yes,  Monsieur ; and  I did  not  think  I had  said  any- 
thing to  give  rise,  on  your  part,  to  such  a misunder- 
standing.” 

“ Excuse  me,  Monsieur  ! the  hour  at  which  you  accost 
me,  the  air  of  mystery  with  which  you  spoke,  — I have 
thought,  I have  supposed,  that  an  interest  more  tender 
even  than  that  of  a brother  — ” 

“ Oh,  Monsieur ! neither  lover  nor  husband  will  ever 
love  my  sister  with  a more  profound  love  than  mine.” 
“Very  well,  in  that  case  I understand  that  my  sup- 
position may  have  wounded  you,  and  I offer  you  an 
apology.  Will  you  allow  me,  Monsieur  % ” and  the  doctor 
made  a movement  to  go  on. 

“Doctor,”  insisted  Philippe,  “I  beg  of  you,  do  not 
leave  me  without  having  reassured  me  as  to  the  condition 
of  my  sister.” 

" But  what  has  made  you  anxious  about  her  condition  ? ” 
“Eh,  mon  Dieu!  what  I have  seen.” 

“ You  have  seen  symptoms  which  indicate  an  indis- 
position — ” 

“ Grave,  Doctor  ! 99 
“ That  depends  upon  circumstances.” 

“ Listen,  Doctor  ! there  is  in  all  this  something  strange  ; 
it  would  seem  that  you  will  not,  that  you  dare  not,  an- 
swer me.” 


A MISUNDERSTANDING. 


385 


“ Suppose  rather,  Monsieur,  that  in  nay  impatience  to 
go  to  Madame  la  Dauphine,  who  is  expecting  me  — ” 

“ Doctor,  Doctor ! ” said  Philippe,  passing  his  hand 
over  his  streaming  brow,  “ you  have  taken  me  for  the 
lover  of  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  ! 99 
“ Yes ; but  you  have  undeceived  me.” 

“ You  think,  then,  that  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  has 
a lover  ! ” 

“ Pardon,  Monsieur  ! I am  not  accountable  to  you  for 
my  thoughts.” 

“ Doctor,  have  pity  on  me  ! Doctor,  you  have  let  fall  a 
word  which  sticks  in  my  heart  like  the  broken  blade  of  a 
poniard.  Doctor,  do  not  try  to  put  me  off ; as  you  are 
a gentleman  and  a skilful  doctor,  what  is  that  malady 
which  you  could  explain  to  a lover,  and  which  you  wish 
to  conceal  from  a brother!  Doctor,  I entreat  you  to 
answer  me  ! ” 

“ I will  ask  you,  on  the  contrary,  to  excuse  me  from 
answering  you,  Monsieur ; for  by  the  way  in  which  you 
question  me,  I see  that  you  are  not  master  of  yourself.” 

“ Oh,  my  God  ! you  do  not  know,  then,  Monsieur,  how 
each  one  of  your  words  drives  me  toward  that  abyss,  — 
the  thought  of  which  makes  me  shudder.” 

“ Monsieur  ! ” 

“ Doctor  ! ” cried  Philippe,  with  added  vehemence, 
“you  have  as  much  as  said  that  you  have  a terrible 
secret  to  disclose  to  me,  to  hear  which  I need  all  my 
composure  and  all  my  courage.” 

“But  I do  not  know  what  supposition  is  misleading 
you.  I have  said  nothing  of  the  kind.” 

“ Oh,  you  do  a hundred  times  more  than  say  ! You 
let  me  think  things.  Oh,  it  is  not  kindness,  Doctor ; you 
see  how  my  heart  is  consuming  before  you ; you  see  how 
I beg,  how  I entreat.  Speak,  speak  ! See,  I swear  to 
VOL.  in.  — 25 


386 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


you,  I am  composed,  I have  courage  — This  sickness, 
this  dishonor  perhaps  — Oh,  my  God  ! you  do  not  con- 
tradict me,  Doctor,  Doctor ! ” 

“ Monsieur  de  Tayerney,  I have  said  nothing,  neither 
to  Madame  la  Dauphine,  nor  to  your  father,  nor  to  you. 
Do  not  ask  me  anything  more.” 

“ Yes,  yes ; hut  you  see  how  I interpret  your  silence. 
You  see  how  I follow  your  thought  into  the  dark  and 
fatal  road  into  which  it  plunges;  stop  me,  at  least,  if  I 
wander.” 

“ Adieu,  Monsieur,”  replied  the  doctor,  sharply. 

“ Oh,  you  will  not  leave  me  without  saying  yes  or  no  1 
One  word,  only  one,  — it  is  all  I ask.” 

The  doctor  stopped.  “ Monsieur,”  he  said,  “ just  now 
— and  that  brings  us  back  to  the  fatal  mistake  which  has 
wounded  you  — ” 

“ Do  not  let  us  speak  of  that,  Monsieur.” 

“ On  the  contrary,  we  will  speak  of  it.  Just  now  — a 
little  late,  perhaps  — you  told  me  that  Mademoiselle  de 
Taverney  was  your  sister ; but  previously,  with  an  exalta- 
tion which  caused  my  error,  you  had  told  me  that  you 
loved  Mademoiselle  Andree  more  than  your  life.” 

“ It  is  true.” 

“ If  your  love  for  her  is  so  great,  she  must  love  you  in 
return  1 ” 

“ Oh,  Monsieur  ! Andr6e  loves  me  better  than  she  loves 
any  one  else.” 

“Well,  then,  return  to  her,  question  her,  Monsieur, — 
question  her  on  that  mystery  in  which  I am  obliged  to 
leave  you ; and  if  she  loves  you  as  you  love  her,  why  she 
will  answer  your  questions.  There  are  many  things  one 
will  say  to  a friend  which  one  will  not  say  to  a physician ; 
then,  perhaps,  she  will  consent  to  tell  you  that  of  which 
I would  not  give  you  even  a hint  to  save  a finger  of  my 


A MISUNDERSTANDING. 


387 


right  hand.  Adieu,  Monsieur ; ” and  the  doctor  turned 
again  toward  the  pavilion. 

“ Oh,  no,  no,  it  is  impossible  ! ” cried  Philippe,  mad 
with  grief,  and  sobbing  at  every  word ; “ no,  Doctor,  I 
have  misunderstood,  — you  cannot  have  said  that ! ” 

The  doctor  quietly  moved  away.  Then,  with  a gentle- 
ness full  of  commiseration,  “Do  as  I have  just  advised 
you,  Monsieur  de  Taverney,”  he  said,  “ and  believe  me, 
it  is  the  best  thing  for  you  to  do.” 

“ Oh,  but  think  of  it ! To  believe  you  is  to  renounce 
the  religion  of  my  whole  life  ; it  is  to  accuse  an  angel ; it 
is  to  tempt  God,  Doctor.  If  you  require  me  to  believe  it, 
prove  it,  at  least  prove  it ! ” 

“ Adieu,  Monsieur.” 

“ Doctor  ! ” cried  Philippe,  in  despair. 

“ Take  care,  if  you  speak  so  violently  you  will  make 
known  what  I had  determined  to  hide  from  the  world, 
and  had  wished  to  conceal  from  yourself.” 

“Yes,  yes  ; you  are  right,  Doctor,”  said  Philippe,  in  a 
tone  so  low  that  the  words  died  on  his  lips  ; “ but,  indeed, 
science  can  make  mistakes,  and  you  will  confess  that  you 
yourself  are  sometimes  mistaken.” 

“ Rarely,  Monsieur,”  replied  the  doctor ; “lama  man 
of  hard  study,  and  my  lips  never  affirm  until  my  eyes  and 
my  mind  have  said,  6 1 have  seen,  I know,  I am  sure.* 
Yes,  certainly,  you  are  right,  Monsieur;  sometimes  I am 
mistaken,  like  every  fallible  creature ; but  according  to  all 
probability,  it  is  not  the  case  now.  Come,  be  calm  and 
let  us  part.” 

But  Philippe  could  not  be  resigned.  He  put  his  hand 
upon  the  doctor’s  arm  with  such  an  air  of  entreaty  that 
the  latter  stopped.  “ One  last,  one  supreme  favor,  Mon- 
sieur,” he  said ; “ you  see  how  agitated  I am ; I feel 
something  which  resembles  madness  ; to  know  whether  I 


388 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


am  going  to  live  or  die  I need  confirmation  of  that  reality 
which  threatens  me.  I am  going  to  my  sister ; I will 
not  speak  to  her  until  you  shall  have  seen  her  again  ; 
consider.” 

“ It  is  for  you  to  consider,  Monsieur ; for  I have  not  a 
word  to  add  to  what  I have  said.” 

“ Monsieur,  promise  me,  — my  God  ! it  is  a favor  that 
the  executioner  would  not  refuse  his  victim,  — promise 
me  to  see  my  sister  again  after  your  visit  to  her  Highness 
Madame  la  Dauphine ; Doctor,  in  the  name  of  Heaven 
promise  me  that ! ” 

“It  is  useless,  Monsieur ; but  if  you  insist,  it  is  my 
duty  to  do  what  you  desire.  On  leaving  Madame  la 
Dauphine,  I will  go  to  see  your  sister.” 

“ Oh,  thanks,  thanks  ! Yes,  come,  and  then  you  will 
confess  that  you  have  been  mistaken.” 

“ I hope  so  with  all  my  heart,  Monsieur ; and  if  I am 
mistaken,  I will  confess  it  joyfully.  Adieu.”  And  the 
doctor,  restored  to  freedom,  went  away,  leaving  Philippe 
upon  the  esplanade,  shaking  with  fever,  covered  with  cold 
perspiration,  and  in  his  delirium  conscious  neither  of  the 
place  where  he  was  nor  of  the  man  with  whom  he  had 
been  talking,  nor  of  the  secret  which  he  had  just  learned. 
For  some  minutes  he  gazed  without  intelligence  at  the  sky, 
gradually  illumined  by  stars,  and  at  the  pavilion,  in  which 
lights  appeared. 


AN  INVESTIGATION. 


389 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

AN  INVESTIGATION. 

As  soon  as  Philippe  had  recovered  his  senses  and  suc- 
ceeded in  gaining  control  over  his  reason,  he  directed  his 
steps  toward  the  apartment  of  Andree.  Indeed,  as  he 
approached  the  pavilion  the  phantom  of  his  unhappiness 
gradually  vanished  ; it  seemed  to  him  a dream  and  not  a 
reality  against  which  he  had  for  a moment  struggled. 
The  farther  he  went  from  the  doctor  the  less  he  believed 
in  his  threatening  intimations.  Surely  science  was  mis- 
taken, and  virtue  had  not  failed.  Had  not  the  doctor 
completely  justified  his  incredulity  in  promising  to  come 
to  see  his  sister  ? 

Nevertheless,  when  Philippe  came  into  Andree’s  pres- 
ence he  was  so  changed,  so  pale,  so  haggard,  that  she  was 
anxious  in  her  turn  to  know  how  so  terrible  a change 
could  have  taken  place  in  him  in  so  short  a time.  One 
thing  alone  could  have  produced  such  an  effect  on  Philippe. 
“ Good  Heavens  ! brother,”  she  said,  “ I am  then  very  ill  ?” 

“ Why  do  you  ask  ? ” said  Philippe. 

“ Because  the  consultation  with  Doctor  Louis  has 
frightened  you.,, 

“ No,  sister/’  said  Philippe  ; “ the  doctor  is  not  anxious, 
and  you  told  me  the  truth.  I could  hardly  induce  him  to 
come  again.” 

u Ah,  is  he  coming  again  ? ” 

“ Yes ; that  does  not  vex  you,  Andree  ? ” and  Philippe, 
saying  this,  gazed  into  the  eyes  of  the  young  girl. 


390 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ No,”  she  replied  simply,  “ and  if  it  reassures  you,  that 
is  all  I ask  ; but  meanwhile  tell  me,  whence  comes  this 
frightful  paleness  which  troubles  me'?” 

“ Does  that  disturb  you,  Andree  *?  ” 

“ You  ask  that ! ” 

“ You  love  me,  then,  tenderly,  Andree  V* 

“ What  did  you  say  * ” said  the  young  girl. 

“ I ask,  Andree,  if  you  love  me  as  well  now  as  in  our 
childhood  ] ” 

“ Oh,  Philippe,  Philippe  ! ” 

“So  I am  one  of  the  dearest  friends  you  have  on 
earth  ] ” 

“ Oh,  the  dearest,  the  only  one  ! ” cried  Andree.  Then, 
blushing  and  confused,  “ Excuse  me,  Philippe,”  she  said, 
“ I forgot  — ” 

“Our  father,  is  it  not  Andree ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

Philippe  took  his  sister’s  hand  and  looking  at  her  ten 
derly,  said,  “ Andree,  do  not  think  that  I should  blame  you 
if  your  heart  held  still  another  affection  than  the  love  you 
have  for  my  father,  or  that  you  feel  for  me.”  Then  sitting 
down  by  her,  he  continued,  “ You  are  at  an  age,  Andree, 
when  the  hearts  of  young  girls  are  stirred  more  deeply  than 
they  themselves  wish,  and,  you  know,  a divine  precept 
commands  women  to  leave  parents  and  family  to  follow 
their  husband.” 

Andree  looked  at  Philippe  for  some  time  as  if  he  had 
spoken  a strange  language  which  she  did  not  understand. 
Then  beginning  to  laugh,  with  a simplicity  nothing  could 
describe.  “ My  husband  ! ” she  said,  “ did  you  not  say 
4 husband/  Philippe  ? Eh,  mon  Dieu  ! he  is  yet  unborn, 
or  at  least,  I do  not  know  him.” 

Philippe  touched  by  this  exclamation  of  Andree,  evi- 
dently so  sincere,  approached  her,  and  taking  her  hand 


AN  INVESTIGATION. 


391 


between  his  own  he  answered,  “ Before  having  a husband, 
my  good  Andree,  one  must  have  a lover.” 

Andree  looked  at  Philippe  in  amazement,  permitting 
him  to  gaze  into  the  very  depths  of  her  clear,  pure  eyes  in 
which  her  whole  soul  was  reflected. 

“ My  sister,”  said  Philippe,  “ since  your  birth  I have 
been  your  best  friend,  as  you  have  been  my  only  one  ; I 
never  left  you,  to  go  to  play  with  my  comrades.  We  have 
grown  up  together,  and  nothing  has  disturbed  the  perfect 
confidence  we  placed  in  each  other ; why  is  it  that  for 
some  time,  Andree,  and  without  apparent  reason,  you  have 
been  so  changed  toward  me  ? ” 

“ Changed,  I ! I changed  toward  you,  Philippe  ? Ex- 
plain yourself.  Indeed,  I understand  nothing  you  have 
said  to  me  since  you  came  in.” 

“ Yes,  Andree,”  said  the  young  man,  pressing  her  to  his 
breast ; “ yes,  my  sweet  sister,  the  passions  of  youth  have 
succeeded  to  the  affections  of  childhood,  and  now  that  you 
are  in  love  I am  no  longer  worthy  of  your  confidence.” 

“ My  brother,  my  friend,”  said  Andree,  more  and  more 
astonished,  “ why  do  you  say  that  ? Why  do  you  speak 
of  love  to  me?” 

“ Andree,  I come  courageously  to  a question  full  of 
dangers  for  you,  full  of  anguish  for  me.  I know  very 
well  that  in  asking  or  rather  demanding  your  confidence 
at  this  time,  I fall  in  your  esteem  ; but  I would  rather  — 
and  believe  me,  it  is  a hard  thing  to  say  — I would  rather 
feel  that  you  love  me  less,  than  leave  you  a prey  to  the 
misfortunes  which  threaten  you,  — terrible  misfortunes, 
Andree,  if  you  persist  in  the  silence  which  I deplore,  and 
of  which  I could  not  have  thought  you  capable  toward  a 
friend,  a brother.” 

“My  brother,  my  friend,”  said  Andree,  “I  swear  to 
you  I do  not  understand  your  reproaches.” 


392 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Andree,  do  you  wish  me  to  make  you  understand 
them?” 

“ Oh,  yes  ; certainly,  yes.” 

“ Well,  then,  if,  encouraged  by  you,  I speak  too  plainly, 
if  I call  the  color  to  your  brow,  and  shame  to  weigh 
heavily  upon  your  heart,  blame  only  yourself,  who  have 
driven  me  by  unjust  distrust  to  search  your  soul  to  its 
very  depths  that  I may  tear  your  secret  from  it.” 

“ Do  so,  Philippe,  and  I assure  you  that  I shall  not  he 
offended.” 

Philippe  looked  at  his  sister,  then  arose  and  strode 
about  the  floor  in  great  agitation.  The  composure  of  the 
young  girl  contradicted  so  strangely  the  charge  against 
her  he  had  made  in  his  own  mind,  that  he  did  not  know 
what  to  think. 

Andree  on  her  part  contemplated  her  brother  with  as- 
tonishment, and  became  chilled  in  contact  with  this  solem- 
nity, so  different,  from  the  sweet  fraternal  authority. 

So,  before  Philippe  had  recovered  speech,  Andree  arose 
in  her  turn  and  went  to  her  brother,  putting  her  arm  in 
his.  Then  looking  at  him  with  an  unspeakable  tender- 
ness, she  said,  “ Listen,  Philippe,  look  at  me  as  I look  at 
you ! ” 

“ Oh,  I ask  nothing  better,”  the  young  man  replied, 
fixing  upon  her  his  burning  eyes ; “ what  do  you  wish  to 
say  to  me  ? ” 

“ I wish  to  say  to  you,  Philippe,  that  you  have  always 
been  a little  jealous  of  my  friendship ; that  is  natural,  since 
I also  have  been  jealous  of  your  care  and  affection ; well, 
look  at  me  as  I told  you  to.”  The  young  girl  smiled. 
“ Do  you  see  a secret  in  my  eyes  ? ” she  said. 

“ Yes,  yes,  I see  one,”  said  Philippe ; “ Andree,  you 
love  some  one.” 

“ I ? ” cried  the  young  girl,  with  an  expression  of  aston- 


AN  INVESTIGATION. 


393 


ishment  so  natural  that  the  most  skilful  actress  could  not 
have  imitated  the  accent  of  that  utterance.  And  she 
began  to  laugh ; “ I love  some  one  ] ” she  said. 

“ Some  one  loves  you,  then  1 ” 

“ Upon  my  word,  so  much  the  worse ; for  as  that  un- 
known person  has  never  become  acquainted  with  me  and 
consequently  has  not  declared  himself,  it  is  a dead  waste 
of  love.” 

Then,  seeing  his  sister  laugh  and  jest  upon  this  ques- 
tion so  frankly,  observing  the  limpid  blue  of  her  eyes,  the 
pure  frankness  of  her  demeanor,  Philippe,  who  felt 
Andree’s  heart  beating  against  his  with  so  steady  a motion, 
said  to  himself  that  a month’s  absence  could  not  make 
such  a change  in  the  character  of  an  irreproachable  young 
girl ; that  poor  Andree  was  suspected  unjustly ; that 
science  lied.  He  confessed  that  there  was  some  excuse 
for  Doctor  Louis,  who  did  not  know  Andree’s  purity  and 
exquisite  instincts  ; who  thought  her  like  all  those  girls  of 
noble  rank,  who,  fascinated  by  unworthy  examples,  or 
carried  away  by  the  excessive  ardor  of  corrupted  blood, 
surrender  themselves  without  regret,  or  even  without 
ambition. 

A last  glance  at  Andree  persuaded  Philippe  of  the  doc- 
tor’s error ; and  he  was  so  happy  in  this  conviction,  that 
he  embraced  his  sister  like  those  martyrs  who  confessed 
the  purity  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  confessing  at  the  same 
time  their  belief  in  her  divine  Son. 

While  in  the  midst  of  these  changes  of  feeling  Philippe 
heard  on  the  stairs  the  step  of  Doctor  Louis,  faithful  to 
his  promise.  Andree  trembled  ; in  her  situation,  every- 
thing was  an  event.  “ Who  is  coming  h ” she  asked. 

“ Doctor  Louis,  probably,”  said  Philippe. 

At  the  same  moment  the  door  opened,  and  the  doctor, 
expected  so  anxiously  by  Philippe,  entered  the  room.  He 
was,  as  we  have  said,  one  of  those  grave  and  honorable 


394 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


men  to  whom  science  is  a priesthood,  and  who  study  its 
mysteries  religiously.  Doctor  Louis  sought  to  discover  the 
diseases  of  the  soul  beneath  the  diseases  of  the  body,  — 
which  was  an  unusual  thing  at  this  very  materialistic 
period.  He  went  on  his  way  boldly,  gruffly,  paying  little 
attention  to  rumors  and  obstacles,  economizing  his  time, 
that  patrimony  of  laboring  men,  with  an  avarice  which 
made  him  rude  toward  the  idle  and  garrulous.  It  was  for 
this  reason  that  he  had  answered  Philippe  so  roughly  at 
their  first  interview.  He  had  taken  him  for  one  of  those 
fops  of  the  court  who  come  to  fawn  upon  the  doctor  in 
order  to  procure  congratulations  upon  their  feats  of  prowess 
in  love,  and  who  are  very  proud  of  having  a secret  to  pay 
for.  But  as  soon  as  the  medallion  was  turned,  and  in- 
stead of  the  fop,  more  or  less  amorous,  the  doctor  had  seen 
the  dark,  threatening  face  of  the  brother  ; as  soon  as  in 
the  place  of  an  offence  he  had  seen  a misfortune,  — the 
philosophic  practitioner,  the  man  of  heart,  was  moved,  and 
after  the  last  words  of  Philippe,  the  doctor  had  said  to 
himself,  “ Not  only  may  I have  been  mistaken,  but  I sin- 
cerely wish  I may  be.”  That  is  the  reason  why  even 
without  the  urgent  entreaty  of  Philippe,  he  would  have 
come  to  see  Andree,  to  satisfy  himself  by  a more  decisive 
examination  that  his  first  opinion  had  been  correct.  He 
came  in,  and  his  first  glance,  that  “ taking  possession  ” of  the 
doctor  and  the  observer,  was  fastened  upon  Andree  as  he 
entered  the  antechamber,  and  he  continued  to  observe  her 
closely.  Immediately,  either  by  reason  of  the  excitement 
caused  by  the  doctor’s  visit,  or  by  natural  accident,  Andree 
was  seized  with  one  of  those  attacks  which  had  frightened 
Philippe,  and  she  tottered,  putting  her  handkerchief  to 
her  lips  with  an  expression  of  pain.  Philippe,  engaged 
in  receiving  the  doctor,  had  not  seen  it.  “ Doctor,”  he 
said,  “ you  are  welcome.  Pardon  the  somewhat  uncere- 
monious manner  in  which  I addressed  you,  when  I ac- 


AN  INVESTIGATION. 


395 


costed  you  an  hour  ago  ; I was  as  agitated  as  I am  now 
calm.” 

The  doctor  ceased  looking  at  Andree  for  a moment,  and 
his  observation  fell  upon  the  young  man,  whose  smile  and 
effusiveness  he  tried  to  comprehend. 

“ You  have  talked  with  Mademoiselle,  your  sister,  as  I 
advised  you  ? ” he  asked. 

“ Yes,  Doctor,  yes.” 

“ And  you  are  reassured  ] ” 

“ I have  more  of  heaven  and  less  of  hell  in  my 
heart.” 

The  doctor  took  Andree’s  hand  and  felt  her  pulse  a long 
time. 

Philippe  looked  on  as  if  to  say,  “ Oh,  go  on,  Doctor ; I 
dread  no  longer  the  physician’s  diagnosis. — Well,  Mon- 
sieur] ” he  said,  with  an  air  of  triumph. 

“ Monsieur  le  Chevalier,”  replied  Doctor  Louis,  “ will 
you  leave  me  alone  with  your  sister  ] ” These  words, 
simply  pronounced,  shook  the  young  man’s  confidence. 
“ What ! do  you  still  wish  it  ] ” he  said. 

The  doctor  made  an  affirmative  gesture. 

“Very  well,  I will  leave  you,  Monsieur,”  replied  Phi- 
lippe, with  a serious  air.  Then  to  his  sister,  “ Andree,”  he 
continued,  “be  frank  and  straightforward  with  the  doc- 
tor.” The  young  girl  shrugged  her  shoulders  as  if  she 
could  not  understand  what  he  meant.  Philippe  con- 
tinued, “ While  he  is  talking  to  you  about  your  health  I 
will  take  a turn  in  the  park.  The  hour  for  which  I or- 
dered my  horse  has  not  arrived,  so  that  I shall  be  able  to 
see  you  again  before  my  departure  and  to  have  a moment’s 
conversation  with  you.”  And  he  pressed  Andr^e’s  hand, 
trying  to  smile.  But  to  the  young  girl  the  pressure  and 
the  smile  seemed  constrained  and  convulsive.  The  doctor 
accompanied  Philippe  to  the  door,  which  he  closed  after 
him.  Then  he  sat  down  on  the  same  sofa  with  Andree. 


396 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTEK  XLIV. 

THE  CONSULTATION. 

The  most  profound  silence  reigned  without.  Not  a breath 
of  wind  was  stirring ; not  a human  voice  could  be  heard, 
— all  Nature  was  still. 

Andree,  in  the  depths  of  her  heart,  was  considerably 
disturbed  to  see  the  importance  which  Philippe  and  the 
doctor  attributed  to  this  disease.  She  was  rather  surprised 
at  the  return  of  Doctor  Louis,  who  that  very  morning  had 
declared  her  illness  insignificant,  and  remedies  useless ; 
but  thanks  to  her  deep  purity,  the  resplendent  mirror  of 
the  soul  was  not  even  dulled  by  the  breath  of  all  these 
different  suspicions. 

Suddenly  the  doctor,  who  had  not  ceased  looking  at 
her,  after  having  turned  upon  her  the  full  light  of  the 
lamp,  took  her  hand  like  a friend  or  a confessor,  no  longer 
trying  the  pulse  like  a doctor.  This  unexpected  move- 
ment surprised  the  susceptible  Andree;  she  came  near 
drawing  away  her  hand. 

“ Mademoiselle,”  asked  the  doctor,  “ did  you  wish  to 
see  me,  or  have  I acceded  only  to  the  desire  of  your  brother 
in  coming  again  to  see  you  ? ” 

“ Monsieur, replied  Andree,  “ my  brother,  on  his  re- 
turn, informed  me  that  you  would  come  again  to  see  me  ; 
but  since  you  had  done  me  the  honor  this  morning  to 
speak  so  lightly  of  my  illness,  I should  not  have  taken  the 
liberty  to  trouble  you  again.” 

The  doctor  bowed.  “ Monsieur,  your  brother,”  he  re- 
plied, “ seems  very  passionate,  jealous  of  his  honor  and 


THE  CONSULTATION. 


397 


unreasonable  in  some  matters ; that  is  probably  the  reason 
why  you  have  declined  to  open  your  heart  to  him.” 

Andree  looked  at  the  doctor  as  she  had  looked  at 
Philippe.  “ You  too,  Monsieur  ] ” she  said,  with  a supreme 
haughtiness. 

“ Pardon,  Mademoiselle,  let  me  finish.” 

Andree  made  a gesture  of  impatience,  or  rather  of 
resignation. 

4 4 It  is,  then,  natural,”  continued  the  doctor,  “ that,  see- 
ing the  sorrow  and  dreading  the  anger  of  this  young  man, 
you  have  obstinately  kept  your  secret ; but  with  me,  Made- 
moiselle, — with  me,  who  am,  you  may  well  believe,  the 
doctor  of  souls  as  well  as  of  bodies ; with  me,  who  see 
and  who  know;  with  me,  who,  consequently,  meet  you 
half-way  on  the  difficult  road  of  confession,  — with  me, 
I have  the  right  to  expect  that  you  will  be  more  frank.” 

“ Monsieur,”  replied  Andree,  “ if  I had  not  seen  my 
brother’s  face  grow  sad  and  take  on  the  expression  of  a 
real  sorrow ; if  I did  not  consider  your  grave  appearance 
and  the  reputation  for  seriousness  which  you  enjoy,  — I 
should  think  that  you  were  putting  your  heads  together  to 
play  a comedy  at  my  expense,  and  to  make  me  take,  after 
a consultation,  through  the  fear  which  you  would  have 
caused  me,  some  very  black  and  bitter  medicine.” 

The  doctor  frowned.  “ Mademoiselle,”  he  said,  “ I beg 
you,  stop  short  in  this  course  of  dissimulation.” 

“ Dissimulation  ! ” cried  Andree. 

“ Would  you  prefer  to  have  me  call  it  hypocrisy]  ” 
“But,  Monsieur,”  cried  the  young  girl,  “you  insult 
me  ! ” 

“ Say  that  I understand  you.” 

“ Monsieur  ! ” Andree  rose,  but  the  doctor  forced  her 
gently,  to  sit  down  again. 

“No,”  he  continued,  “no,  my  child,  I do  not  insult 


398 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


you,  — I serve  you ; and  if  I convince  you,  I save  you  I 
So  neither  your  expression  of  anger  nor  your  pretended 
indignation  will  change  my  resolution.” 

“ But  what  do  you  wish  h What  do  you  demand  ] ” 

“ Confess,  or,  upon  my  honor,  I shall  have  a very  had 
opinion  of  you.” 

“ Monsieur,  once  more,  my  brother  is  not  here  to  de- 
fend me,  and  I say  that  you  insult  me,  that  I do  not 
understand,  and  that  I demand  a clear  and  complete 
explanation  in  regard  to  this  pretended  disease.” 

“For  the  last  time,  Mademoiselle,”  replied  the  aston- 
ished doctor,  “ will  you  not  spare  me  the  pain  of  making 
you  blush  1 ” 

“ I do  not  understand ! I do  not  understand  ! I do  not 
understand  ! ” Andree  exclaimed  three  times,  with  flashing 
eyes,  which  questioned,  defied,  and  almost  threatened. 

“Well,  I understand  about  you,  Mademoiselle;  you 
doubt  science,  and  you  hope  to  conceal  your  condition 
from  the  world.  But,  be  undeceived,  with  one  single  word 
I will  humble  all  your  pride,  — you  are  enceinte  ! ” 

Andree  uttered  a terrible  cry,  and  fell  back  on  the  sofa. 
This  cry  was  followed  by  the  sound  of  a door  opened  with 
violence,  and  Philippe  bounded  into  the  middle  of  the 
room,  sword  in  hand,  with  blood-shot  eyes  and  trembling 
lips.  “ Scoundrel ! ” he  said  to  the  doctor,  “ you  lie  ! ” 
The  doctor  turned  slowly  toward  the  young  man  with- 
out letting  go  the  scarcely  beating  pulse  of  Andree.  “ I 
have  said  what  I have  said,  Monsieur,”  he  replied,  “ and 
the  fear  of  your  sword,  naked  or  sheathed,  will  not  make 
me  say  what  is  not  true.” 

“ Doctor ! ” murmured  Philippe,  letting  his  sword  fall. 

“ You  wished  me  to  verify  by  a second  trial  my  first 
examination ; I have  done  so.  Now  that  certainty  is  es- 
tablished, nothing  can  destroy  my  faith  in  it.  I regret  it 


THE  CONSULTATION. 


399 


extremely,  young  man ; for  you  have  inspired  me  as 
much  with  sympathy  as  this  young  girl  has  inspired  me 
with  aversion,  through  her  persistence  in  falsehood.” 
Philippe  started,  but  Andree  was  motionless. 

“ I am  a family  man,  Monsieur,”  continued  the  doctor, 
“ and  I understand  how  much  you  must  suffer.  I offer 
you  my  services,  then,  and  I promise  secrecy.  My  word 
is  sacred,  Monsieur,  and  everybody  will  tell  you  that  I 
think  more  of  my  word  than  of  my  life.” 

“ Oh  ! but,  Monsieur,  it  is  impossible  ! ” 

“ I do  not  know  whether  it  is  impossible ; but  it  is  true. 
Adieu,  Monsieur  de  Taverney.”  And  the  doctor  turned 
away  with  the  same  steady  and  slow  step,  looking  affec- 
tionately at  the  young  man,  who  was  writhing  with  pain, 
and  who,  as  soon  as  the  door  was  shut,  sank  overcome 
with  grief  into  a chair  two  steps  from  Andree. 

The  doctor  having  gone,  Philippe  arose,  shut  the  doors 
of  the  corridor  and  of  the  chamber,  closed  the  windows,  and 
approaching  Andree,  who  was  astonished  to  see  him  mak- 
ing these  inauspicious  preparations,  “ You  have  deceived 
me  in  a stupid  and  cowardly  manner,”  he  said,  folding 
his  arms,  — “ cowardly,  because  I am  your  brother,  be- 
cause I was  so  weak  as  to  love  you,  to  prefer  you  to  all, 
to  esteem  you  above  all,  and  because  this  confidence  on 
my  part  ought  at  least  to  call  forth  your  own,  even  if 
affection  could  not  inspire  it ; stupidly,  because  now  the 
infamous  secret  which  dishonors  us  is  in  the  power  of  a 
third  person  ; because  in  spite  of  your  secrecy  it  may  have 
been  seen  by  others ; because,  in  short,  if  you  had  con- 
fessed your  situation  to  me  at  first,  I might  have  saved 
you  from  shame,  if  not  through  affection  for  you,  at  least 
for  my  own  sake;  for  indeed  I should  save  myself  in 
saving  you.  See,  now,  the  full  measure  of  your  guilt. 
Your  honor,  so  long  as  you  are  not  married,  is  shared  by 


400 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


all  those  whose  name  you  bear.  — that  is  to  say,  whose 
name  you  soil.  Now,  then,  I am  no  longer  your  brother, 
since  you  have  denied  me  that  right ; now,  I am  a man 
interested  in  wresting  from  you  by  all  possible  means  the 
whole  secret,  so  that  from  this  confession  may  spring  forth 
for  myself  some  reparation.  I come,  then,  to  you  full  of 
anger  and  resolution,  and  I say  to  you,  Since  you  have  been 
coward  enough  to  trust  in  a lie,  you  will  be  punished  as 
cowards  are  punished.  Confess,  then,  your  crime,  or  — ” 

“ Threats  ! ” cried  the  proud  Andrde,  — “ threats  to  a 
woman  ! ” and  she  arose  pale  and  threatening  herself. 

“ Yes,  threats,  — not  to  a woman,  but  to  a creature 
without  honesty,  without  honor.” 

“ Threats  ! ” continued  Andree,  gradually  becoming  ex- 
asperated, — “ threats  to  me,  who  know  nothing,  who 
understand  nothing,  who  regard  you  all  as  bloodthirsty 
lunatics,  conspiring  together  to  kill  me  with  grief,  if  not 
with  shame  ! ” 

“ Well,  yes!”  cried  Philippe;  “die,  then!  die,  then, 
unless  you  confess,  — die  this  instant ! God  judges  you, 
and  I will  strike  you ; ” and  the  young  man  took  up, 
convulsively,  his  sword,  and  quick  as  lightning  placed  the 
point  at  his  sister’s  breast. 

“ Well,  well,  kill  me  ! ” she  cried,  without  showing  fear 
of  the  light  which  flashed  from  the  blade,  without  trying 
to  avoid  the  pain  of  the  wound  ; and  she  threw  herself 
forward,  full  of  grief  and  madness,  and  her  movement 
was  so  quick  that  the  sword  would  have  pierced  her 
breast  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  sudden  terror  of  Philippe, 
and  the  sight  of  drops  of  blood  which  stained  the  muslin 
thrown  around  his  sister’s  neck.  The  young  man  had  lost 
his  strength  and  his  anger ; he  started  back,  dropped  his 
sword,  and  falling  on  his  knees,  sobbing,  he  put  his  arms 
around  the  body  of  the  young  girl. 


THE  CONSULTATION. 


401 


“ Andree ! An  dree  ! ” he  cried,  “ no,  no ! it  is  I who 
will  die  ! You  love  me  no  longer,  you  know  me  no 
more  ; I have  nothing  more  to  do  in  this  world.  Oh,  you 
love  some  one  so  much,  Andree,  that  you  prefer  death  to 
confiding  in  me  ! Oh,  Andree,  you  shall  not  die  ! it  is  I 
who  will  die;”  and  he  attempted  to  escape,  but  already 
Andree  had  put  both  arms  about  his  neck,  beside  herself, 
covering  him  with  kisses,  bathing  him  with  tears. 

“ No,  no,”  she  said ; “ you  were  right  at  first.  Kill  me, 
Philippe,  for  they  say  that  I am  guilty.  But  you,  so 
noble,  so  pure,  so  good,  — you  whom  no  one  accuses,  live 
and  pity  me  instead  of  cursing  me.” 

“Well,  sister,”  replied  the  young  man,  “in  the  name 
of  Heaven,  in  the  name  of  our  former  friendship,  come, 
fear  nothing,  neither  for  yourself  nor  for  him  whom  you 
love ; he,  whoever  he  may  be,  shall  be  sacred  to  me,  were 
he  my  greatest  enemy,  were  he  the  vilest  of  men.  But  I 
have  no  enemy,  Andree ; and  you  are  so  noble  in  heart 
and  thought  that  your  lover  must  be  well  chosen.  Well, 
I will  gc  to  find  him,  I will  call  him  brother.  You  say 
nothing ; do  you  mean  that  marriage  between  you  and  him 
is  impossible T Well,  so  be  it ! I will  be  resigned  ; I will 
keep  all  my  grief  to  myself  : I will  stifle  this  imperious 
voice  of  honor  which  demands  blood.  I ask  you  nothing, 
not  even  the  name  of  this  man.  You  have  loved  this 
man,  therefore  he  is  dear  to  me  — Only,  let  us  leave 
France,  let  us  go  together.  The  king  has  given  you  a 
valuable  present,  they  say  ; well,  we  will  sell  it ; we  will 
send  half  of  the  money  to  our  father  ; then  with  the  other 
half  we  will  live  unknown.  I will  be  all  to  you,  Andree; 
you  shall  be  all  to  me.  I love  no  one ; you  see  that  I am 
devoted  to  you,  Andree ; you  see  what  I am  doing ; you 
see  that  you  can  rely  on  my  friendship,  — come,  will  you 
refuse  me  still  your  confidence,  after  wrhat  I have  just  said 
to  you  It  Come,  come,  will  you  not  call  me  your  brother  'l  ” 
vol.  nr.  — 25 


402 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Andree  had  listened  in  silence  to  what  the  distracted 
young  man  had  said.  The  beating  of  her  heart  alone  gave 
sign  of  life  ; her  look  alone  indicated  reason. 

“ Philippe,”  she  said,  after  a long  silence,  “ you  thought 
that  I loved  you  no  longer,  poor  brother  ! you  thought 
that  I loved  another  man  ; you  thought  that  I had  forgot- 
ten the  law  of  honor,  — I,  who  am  a girl  of  noble  birth, 
and  who  understand  all  the  duties  that  word  imposes  upon 
me  ! My  dear,  I forgive  you.  Yes,  yes  ; in  vain  have  yon 
believed  me  base ; in  vain  have  you  called  me  cowardly. 
Yes,  yes,  I forgive  you ; but  I will  not  forgive  you  if  you 
believe  me  so  impious,  so  vile  as  to  swear  falsely  to  you. 
I swear  to  you,  Philippe,  by  the  God  who  hears  me,  by 
the  soul  of  my  mother,  — which  has  not  sufficiently  pro- 
tected me,  alas  ! as  it  would  seem,  — I swear  to  you  by 
my  ardent  love  for  you,  that  never  a thought  of  love  has 
distracted  my  reason ; that  never  has  a man  said  to  me, 
* I love  you ; * that  never  have  lips  kissed  my  hand  ; that 
I am  pure  in  mind,  virgin  in  desire  as  on  the  day  of  my 
birth.  Now,  Philippe,  God  has  my  soul,  take  you  my 
body  in  your  hands.” 

“It  is  well,”  said  Philippe,  after  a long  silence,  — “it  is 
well,  Andree,  I thank  you.  Now  I see  clearly  into  the 
very  depths  of  your  heart.  Yes,  you  are  pure,  innocent, 
dear  victim  ; but  there  are  magic  drinks,  poisoned  philtres ; 
some  one  has  set  for  you  an  infamous  trap ; some  one  has 
taken  from  you  in  your  sleep  that  which  living  no  one 
could  have  torn  from  you  but  with  your  life.  You  have 
fallen  into  some  snare,  Andree  ; but  now  we  are  united, 
consequently  we  are  strong.  You  trust  to  me  the  care  of 
your  honor  and  of  your  vengeance,  do  you  not  h ” 

“ Oh,  yes,  yes  ! ” said  Andree,  quickly,  with  bitter 
emphasis ; “ yes,  for  if  you  avenge  me  it  will  be  for  a 
crime.” 

“Well,”  continued  Philippe,  “aid  me,  support  me. 


THE  CONSULTATION. 


403 


Let  us  search  together ; let  us  go  back  hour  by  hour  over 
the  past  days  ; let  us  follow  the  helpful  thread  of  memory, 
and  at  the  first  clew  — ” 

“ Oh,  I wish  it!  I wish  it!”  said  Andree;  “let  us 
search.” 

“ Well,  have  you  noticed  any  one  following  you,  watch- 
ing you  ? ” 

“ No.” 

“No  one  has  written  to  you*?” 

“ No  one.” 

“ No  man  has  told  you  he  loved  you?  ” 

“ No  one.” 

“ Women  have  a remarkable  instinct  in  this  respect ; 
have  you  ever  noticed  that  any  one  — desired  you  ? ” 

“ I have  never  noticed  anything  of  the  kind.” 

“ Dear  sister,  search  the  circumstances  of  your  life,  its 
inmost  details.” 

“ Lead  me.” 

“ Have  you  walked  out  alone  ? ” 

“Never,  that  I can  remember,  except  to  go  to  see 
Madame  la  Dauphine.” 

“ When  you  went  off  into  the  park,  into  the  woods  ? ” 

“ Nicole  always  accompanied  me.” 

“ Speaking  of  Nicole,  she  has  left  you  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ On  what  day  ? ” 

“ The  very  day  of  your  departure,  I think.” 

“ She  was  a girl  of  questionable  conduct ; do  you  know 
the  particulars  of  her  flight  ? Think  carefully.” 

“ I only  know  that  she  went  off  with  her  lover.” 

“ What  were  your  last  relations  with  that  girl  ? ” 

“ Oh,  at  nine  o’clock,  she  came  as  usual  into  my  cham- 
ber, undressed  me,  prepared  my  glass  of  water,  and  went  out.” 
“You  did  not  notice  whether  she  mixed  any  cordial 
with  the  water  ? ” 


404 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ No  ; besides,  that  circumstance  would  have  had  no 
importance,  for  I remember  that  at  the  moment  when  I 
lifted  the  glass  to  my  lips,  I experienced  a very  strange 
sensation.” 

“ What  was  it  like  ] ” 

“Like  that  I experienced  one  day  at  Taverney.” 

“ At  Taverney  f ” 

“ Yes,  when  that  stranger  was  passing  by.” 

“ What  stranger  ] ” 

“ Comte  de  Balsamo.” 

“ Comte  de  Balsamo  ] And  what  was  this  sensation  ? ” 
“ Oh,  something  like  vertigo,  like  dizziness ; then  the 
loss  of  all  my  faculties.” 

“ And  you  felt  this  impression  at  Taverney,  you  say]” 
“ Yes.” 

“ Under  what  circumstances  ] ” 

“ I was  at  my  piano  ; I felt  myself  fainting ; I looked 
before  me  and  saw  the  count  in  a mirror.  From  that 
moment  I remember  nothing  more,  except  that  when  I 
awoke  I was  still  at  the  piano,  and  could  not  judge  of  the 
length  of  my  sleep.” 

“ It  is  the  only  time,  you  say,  that  you  experienced  this 
singular  sensation  ] ” 

“ Once  more,  on  the  day  or  rather  the  night  of  the  fire- 
works. I was  dragged  along  by  all  that  crowd,  upon  the 
point  of  being  crushed,  destroyed ; I collected  all  my 
strength  for  the  struggle  ; all  at  once  my  arms  relaxed,  a 
cloud  enveloped  my  eyes,  but  through  this  cloud  I had 
yet  time  to  see  this  very  man.” 

“ The  Comte  de  Balsamo  1 ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And  you  went  to  sleep  ] ” 

“ I went  to  sleep  or  fainted,  I cannot  tell  which.  You 
know  how  he  carried  me  away,  and  brought  me  back  to  my 
father.” 


THE  CONSULTATION. 


405 


" Yes,  yes ; and  that  night,  — the  night  that  Nicole 
went  away,  — did  you  see  him  then  1 ” 

“ No  ; but  I experienced  all  the  symptoms  which  gave 
notice  of  his  presence,  — the  same  strange  sensations,  the 
same  nervous  dizziness,  the  same  torpor,  the  same  sleep.” 

“ The  same  sleep  ? ” 

“ Yes,  sleep  full  of  vertigos,  of  which,  even  while  strug- 
gling against  them,  I recognized  the  mysterious  source 
before  yielding  to  them.” 

“ Great  God  ! ” cried  Philippe,  “ go  on,  go  on  ! ” 

“ I went  to  sleep.” 

“ Where  did  you  go  to  sleep  ? 99 

“ On  my  own  bed,  I am  very  sure ; and  I awoke  upon 
the  floor,  alone,  ill,  and  cold,  like  a dead  person  reviving. 
I called  Nicole,  but  in  vain  ; Nicole  had  disappeared.” 

“ And  this  sleep  was  the  very  same  1 ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ The  same  as  at  Taverney  ? the  same  as  on  the  day  of 
the  fetes  1 ” 

“Yes,  yes.” 

“ On  the  first  two  occasions,  just  before  yielding,  you 
had  seen  this  Joseph  Balsamo,  this  Comte  de  Fenix?  ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ And  the  third  time  you  did  not  see  him '?  ” 

“No,”  said  Andree,  in  terror,  for  she  was  beginning  to 
understand ; “ no,  but  I felt  his  presence.” 

“ Good  ! ” cried  Philippe  ; “ now  be  calm,  be  reassured, 
be  proud,  Andree ; I know  the  secret.  Thanks,  dear  sis- 
ter, thanks.  Ah,  we  are  saved ! ” 

Philippe  took  Andree  in  his  arms,  pressed  her  tenderly 
to  his  heart,  and  carried  away  by  the  ardor  of  resolution, 
he  rushed  out  of  the  chamber.  He  ran  to  the  stables, 
saddled  his  horse  himself,  mounted,  and  took  in  great 
haste  the  road  to  Paris. 


406 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTEK  XLV. 

gilbert’s  conscience. 

All  the  scenes  we  have  just  described  had  reacted  power- 
fully upon  Gilbert.  The  unbalanced  susceptibility  of  this 
young  man  was  subjected  to  too  severe  a trial  when,  in  the 
depths  of  the  retreat  which  he  knew  how  to  choose  in 
some  corner  of  the  garden,  he  saw  every  day  the  progress 
of  the  disease  on  the  face  and  in  the  step  of  Andrde  ; when 
this  paleness,  which  had  alarmed  him  the  evening  before, 
seemed  next  morning  more  marked,  more  accusing,  when 
Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  came  to  the  window  to  get  the 
first  rays  of  the  morning  sun.  Then  whoever  had  ob- 
served Gilbert’s  countenance  would  not  have  failed  to  see 
in  it  the  characteristic  traits  of  that  remorse  which  was  so 
favorite  a subject  among  the  painters  of  antiquity. 

Gilbert  loved  the  beauty  of  Andree,  and  on  the  other 
hand  he  detested  it.  This  brilliant  beauty,  together  with  so 
many  other  superior  qualities,  established  a new  barrier 
between  him  and  the  young  girl ; nevertheless  this  beauty 
seemed  to  him  a new  treasure  to  acquire.  Such  were  the 
reasons  for  his  love  and  his  hatred,  for  his  desire  and  his 
scorn. 

But  from  the  time  this  beauty  was  sullied,  when  the 
features  of  Andree  became  a revelation  of  suffering,  or  of 
shame,  from  the  time  when  there  was  danger  for  Andree, 
danger  for  Gilbert,  the  situation  was  wholly  changed ; and 
Gilbert,  who  was  eminently  just,  changed  also  his  point  of 
view.  We  may  say  that  his  first  feeling  was  one  of 


GILBERT’S  CONSCIENCE. 


407 


profound  sadness.  He  did  not  see  without  pain  the  beauty 
of  his  mistress  fading,  her  health  failing.  He  experienced 
the  delicious  pride  of  pitying  this  haughty  woman,  so 
scornful  of  him,  and  of  rewarding  her  with  compassion  for 
all  the  opprobrium  with  which  she  had  loaded  him.  But 
we  do  not  on  this  account  make  excuses  for  Gilbert ; pride 
justifies  nothing.  But  pride  was  not  the  only  sentiment 
in  Gilbert’s  heart  as  he  confronted  the  situation.  Every 
time  that  Mademoiselle  de  Tavern ey,  pale,  suffering,  and 
sad,  appeared  like  a phantom  before  the  eyes  of  Gilbert, 
his  heart  leaped,  the  blood  rushed  to  his  eyelids  like  tears, 
and  he  pressed  to  his  breast  a clinched,  restless  hand, 
which  tried  to  restrain  the  revolt  of  his  conscience. 

“ It  is  through  me  that  she  is  ruined,”  he  murmured. 
And  devouring  her  with  a furious  look,  he  fled,  imagining 
all  the  time  that  he  could  see  her,  and  hear  her  groan. 
Then  he  was  stricken  to  the  heart ; he  experienced  one  of 
the  most  poignant  griefs  that  it  is  given  man  to  endure. 
His  furious  love  needed  consolation,  and  he  would  have 
given  his  life  for  the  right  to  fall  on  his  knees  before 
Andree,  to  take  her  by  the  hand,  to  console  her,  to  recall 
her  to  life  when  she  fainted.  His  powerlessness  on  these 
occasions  was  a punishment,  the  tortures  of  which  no 
words  could  describe.  Gilbert  bore  this  martyrdom  three 
days.  On  the  first  day  he  had  noticed  the  change,  the 
slow  working  of  the  disease  on  Andree.  Where  others 
saw  nothing  more,  he,  the  cause,  could  divine  and  inter- 
pret everything.  More  than  this,  he  had  studied  the 
course  of  the  disease,  and  could  calculate  the  exact  time  of 
the  crisis. 

The  day  of  Andree’s  faintings  he  spent  in  frights,  in 
agitations,  in  wild  wanderings,  — certain  indications  of  a 
conscience  at  bay.  All  this  running  to  and  fro,  these  airs 
of  indifference  or  of  eagerness,  these  bursts  of  sympathy  or 


408 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


sarcasm  which  Gilbert  considered  as  master-pieces  of  dis- 
simulation and  manoeuvring,  any  clerk  of  the  Chatelet, 
any  turnkey  of  Saint  Lazare,  would  have  analyzed  and 
interpreted  them  as  the  ferret  of  Monsieur  de  Sartines 
could  read  and  write  cipher.  One  does  not  see  a man  run 
until  out  of  breath,  then  suddenly  stop,  utter  inarticulate 
sounds,  then  plunge  all  at  once  into  the  deepest  silence,  — 
one  does  not  see  him  listening  in  the  air  for  indifferent 
sounds,  or  dig  the  ground,  or  hack  the  trees  in  rage,  with- 
out thinking  of  him,  ce  This  man  is  mad  if  he  is  not  a 
culprit,” 

After  this  first  outpouring  of  remorse,  Gilbert  had  passed 
from  commiseration  to  egotism.  He  knew  that  these  fre- 
quent fainting  fits  of  Andree  would  not  seem  to  be  a 
natural  sickness,  and  that  the  cause  of  them  would  be 
sought  for.  Gilbert  called  to  mind  the  brutal  and  expe- 
ditious forms  of  justice  which  investigate  all  kinds  of 
crime  which  can  dishonor  a man,  — the  questions,  the 
examinations,  the  analogies  unknown  to  the  rest  of  the 
world,  and  which  put  on  the  track  of  a criminal  those 
blood-hounds,  full  of  resources,  called  “ instructors.” 
Now  that  which  Gilbert  had  done  seemed  to  him  mor- 
ally most  odious  and  deserving  of  punishment.  He  began 
to  tremble  in  earnest ; for  he  feared  that  the  sickness  of 
Andree  would  instigate  inquiry.  From  this  time,  like 
the  criminal  in  that  celebrated  picture  pursued  by  the 
angel  of  remorse  by  the  pale  light  of  his  torch,  Gilbert 
cast  frightened  looks  upon  everything  about  him.  He 
was  suspicious  ; every  sound  and  every  whisper,  every 
word  he  heard  spoken,  however  insignificant,  seemed  to 
have  some  relation  to  Mademoiselle  de  Tavemey  or  to 
himself. 

He  had  seen  Monsieur  de  Eichelieu  go  to  see  the  king, 
and  Monsieur  de  Taverney  go  to  visit  his  daughter.  The 


GILBERT’S  CONSCIENCE. 


409 


house  had  seemed  on  that  day  to  take  on  an  extraordinary 
air  of  conspiracy  and  suspicion.  It  was  still  worse  when 
he  saw  the  doctor  and  the  dauphiness  repair  to  the  eham- 
her  of  Andree.  Gilbert  was  one  of  those  sceptics  who  be- 
lieve in  nothing.  He  cared  but  little  for  God  or  man ; but 
he  recognized  science  as  God,  and  proclaimed  its  omnipo- 
tence. There  were  times  when  Gilbert  would  have  denied 
the  infallible  knowledge  of  the  Supreme  Being ; he  never 
doubted  the  clear-sightedness  of  the  doctor.  The  visit  of 
Doctor  Louis  to  Andree  was  a blow  from  which  Gilbert’s 
mind  could  not  recover.  He  ran  to  his  chamber,  leaving 
his  work,  and  deaf  as  a statue  to  the  injunctions  of  his 
superiors.  There,  behind  the  poor  curtain  which  he  had 
improvised  to  conceal  his  spyings,  he  addressed  all  his 
faculties  to  the  endeavor  to  discover  a word  or  movement 
which  would  reveal  the  result  of  the  consultation.  Noth- 
ing happened  which  would  enlighten  him.  Only  once  he 
saw  the  face  of  the  dauphiness,  who  came  to  the  window 
to  take  a look  at  the  court,  which  she  had  probably  never 
seen.  He  could  also  see  Doctor  Louis  opening  this  win- 
dow to  let  into  the  chamber  a little  fresh  air.  As  for 
hearing  what  was  said,  or  seeing  the  expression  of  their 
faces,  that  was  not  possible ; a thick  curtain,  which  served 
as  a blind,  fell  the  whole  length  of  the  window,  and  pre- 
vented all  knowledge  of  what  was  going  on. 

The  anguish  of  the  young  man  may  be  conceived.  The 
doctor,  with  the  eye  of  a lynx,  had  solved  the  mystery. 
Disclosure  must  follow,  not  immediately,  as  Gilbert  justly 
supposed,  on  account  of  the  presence  of  the  dauphiness, 
but  very  soon  between  the  father  and  daughter  when  the 
two  visitors  should  leave  them  alone.  Gilbert,  wild  with 
grief  and  impatience,  beat  his  head  against  the  walls  of 
his  garret.  He  saw  Monsieur  de  Taverney  go  out  with 
Madame  la  Dauphine,  the  doctor  having  already  left. 


410 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ The  explanation  will  take  place  between  Monsieur  de 
Taverney  and  the  dauphiness,”  he  said  to  himself. 

The  baron  did  not  return  to  his  daughter , Andree  re- 
mained alone  in  her  room,  and  spent  the  time  upon  her 
sofa,  partly  in  reading,  interrupted  by  spasms  and  head- 
aches, partly  in  meditations  so  deep  and  quiet  that  Gil- 
bert took  them  for  trances,  when  he  caught  a glimpse  of 
her  through  an  opening  in  the  curtain  which  the  wind 
occasionally  blew  aside. 

Andree,  worn  out  with  pain  and  emotion,  went  to  sleep. 
Gilbert  profited  by  this  respite  to  go  out  of  doors  to  gather 
rumors  and  comments.  This  time  was  precious  to  him,  be- 
cause it  gave  him  opportunity  for  reflection.  The  danger 
was  so  imminent  that  he  must  combat  it  by  a sudden, 
heroic  resolution.  This  was  the  first  point  of  support 
upon  which  this  mind,  vacillating  because  subtle,  found 
strength  and  tranquillity.  But  what  resolution  to  take  ? 
Any  change,  in  such  circumstances,  would  attract  atten- 
tion. Flight?  Ah,  yes!  flight,  with  that  energy  of  youth, 
that  vigor  of  despair  and  of  fear,  which  doubles  the 
strength  of  a man  and  renders  it  equal  to  that  of  an  army, 
— hide  by  day,  travel  by  night,  and  arrive  at  length  — 
where  ? In  what  place  could  he  hide  where  the  avenging 
arm  of  justice  could  not  find  him? 

Gilbert  knew  the  customs  of  the  country.  What  would 
they  think  in  countries  almost  savage,  almost  deserted,  — 
for  as  to  cities  he  must  not  think  of  them,  — what  would 
they  think  in  a small  town,  a hamlet,  of  the  stranger 
who  comes  some  day  to  beg  his  bread,  or  whom  they  sus- 
pect of  stealing  it  ? And  then  Gilbert  knew  himself  by 
heart,  — a noticeable  face,  a face  which  henceforth  would 
bear  the  indelible  impress  of  a terrible  secret,  would  a t< 
tract  the  attention  of  every  observer.  To  fly  was  already 
a danger : but  to  be  discovered  was  a disgrace. 


GILBERT'S  CONSCIENCE. 


411 


Flight  would  condemn  him  ; he  rejected  this  idea,  and 
as  if  his  mind  had  strength  for  only  one  idea,  the  un- 
happy man,  after  dismissing  the  idea  of  flight,  entertained 
that  of  death.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  thought  of  it ; 
the  apparition  of  this  lugubrious  phantom  he  had  evoked 
occasioned  him  no  fear.  “ It  will  be  time  enough  to  think 
of  death  when  all  resources  are  exhausted.  Besides,  it  is 
cowardly  to  kill  one’s  self.  Rousseau  has  said,  ‘ To  suffer 
is  more  noble.'  ” With  the  utterance  of  this  paradox,  Gil- 
bert raised  his  head  and  renewed  his  wandering  course 
through  the  gardens.  He  had  obtained  the  first  glimpse 
of  security,  when,  all  at  once,  Philippe,  arriving  as  we 
have  seen,  overturned  all  his  ideas,  and  threw  him  into  a 
fresh  series  of  perplexities. 

The  brother,  the  brother  sent  for  ! it  has  been  then 
satisfactorily  proved  ! The  family  have  determined  on 
silence.  Yes ; but  with  all  the  investigations,  all  the  re- 
finement of  details  which  for  Gilbert  meant  the  tortures 
of  the  Conciergerie,  of  the  Chatelet,  and  of  the  Tournelle. 
They  would  drag  him  before  Andree ; they  would  force 
him  to  kneel,  to  confess  ignominiously  his  crime ; and 
they  would  kill  him  like  a dog  with  a cudgel  or  knife,  — 
a legitimate  vengeance  justified  in  advance  by  numerous 
precedents. 

Louis  XY.  was  very  indulgent  to  the  nobility  in  such 
cases.  And  then  Philippe  was  the  most  formidable 
avenger  that  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  could  call  to  her 
aid.  Philippe,  who  alone  of  the  family  had  shown  toward 
Gilbert  the  sentiments  of  a man  and  almost  of  an  equal, 
— would  not  Philippe  as  surely  kill  the  criminal  writh  a 
word  as  with  the  sword ; if  this  word  were,  “ Gilbert,  you 
have  eaten  of  our  bread,  and  you  have  dishonored  us  ! ” 

So  we  have  seen  Gilbert  stealing  away  at  the  first 
appearance  of  Philippe  ; and  in  returning  he  obeyed  only 


412 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


his  instinct  not  to  accuse  himself ; and  from  that  moment, 
he  concentrated  all  his  strength  into  a single  purpose,  — 
resistance.  He  followed  Philippe,  saw  him  go  to  the  apart* 
ments  of  Andree,  and  talk  with  Doctor  Louis ; he  watched 
everything,  judged  everything,  understood  the  despair  of 
Philippe.  He  saw  that  grief  spring  up  and  increase  ; his 
terrible  scene  with  Andree  he  discovered  from  the  play 
of  the  shadows  behind  the  curtains.  “ I am  lost,”  he 
thought.  And  immediately,  his  reason  wandering,  he 
seized  a knife  to  kill  Philippe  whom  he  expected  to  see 
appear  at  his  door,  or  to  kill  himself,  if  necessary. 

But,  on  the  contrary,  Philippe  was  reconciled  with  his 
sister.  Gilbert  saw  him  on  his  knees  kissing  Andree’s 
hands ; here  was  a fresh  hope,  a door  of  safety.  If 
Philippe  had  not  come  up  to  him  with  cries  of  rage,  it 
was  because  Andree  was  wholly  ignorant  of  the  name  of 
the  criminal.  If  she,  the  only  witness,  the  only  accuser, 
knew  nothing,  why  no  one  knew  anything.  If  Andree, 
foolish  hope,  knew  and  did  not  speak,  it  was  more  than 
safety,  — it  was  happiness,  it  was  triumph.  From 
this  moment  Gilbert  rose  to  the  level  of  the  situa- 
tion. Nothing  arrested  his  progress  now  that  he  had 
recovered  his  clearness  of  vision.  “ Where  is  the  evi- 
dence,” he  said,  “if  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  does  not 
accuse  me  h And,  fool  that  I am,  is  it  the  result  she  will 
accuse  me  of,  or  the  crime  itself?  Now,  she  has  not 
reproached  me  for  the  crime  ; nothing  for  three  weeks 
past  has  indicated  to  me  that  she  detested  me,  or  avoided 
me  more  than  formerly.  If,  then,  she  has  not  known  the 
cause,  nothing  in  the  effect  will  point  to  me  more  than 
to  another.  I saw  the  king  himself  in  the  chamber  of 
Mademoiselle  Andree.  I will  prove  it,  if  need  be,  to  the 
brother,  and  in  spite  of  every  denial  of  his  Majesty,  they 
will  believe  me.  Yes  ; but  this  would  be  a dangerous 


GILBERT’S  CONSCIENCE. 


413 


game.  I will  be  silent ; the  king  has  too  many  ways  of 
proving  his  innocence,  or  of  crushing  my  evidence.  But 
in  default  of  the  king,  whose  name  cannot  be  brought 
into  this  affair  under  pain  of  imprisonment  for  life,  or  of 
death,  have  I not  that  unknown  man  who  the  same  night 
led  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  into  the  garden'?  This 
man,  how  will  he  defend  himself?  What  will  be  their 
reason  for  suspecting  him  ? How  will  they  find  him  if 
they  do  suspect  him  1 He  is  but  an  ordinary  man ; I am 
as  good  as  he,  and  I will  defend  myself  stoutly  against 
him.  Besides,  they  will  not  even  think  of  me.  God 
alone  saw  me,”  he  added,  laughing  bitterly;  “but  this 
God  who  so  often  sees  my  grief  and  my  tears  without  say- 
ing anything,  why  should  he  be  so  unjust  as  to  betray  me 
on  this  first  chance  for  happiness  that  he  has  given  me] 
Moreover,  if  there  has  been  a crime,  it  is  his,  and  not 
mine ; and  Monsieur  de  Voltaire  proves  incontestably  that 
there  are  no  longer  any  miracles.  I am  saved,  am  calm  ; 
my  secret  is  my  own,  the  future  is  mine.”  After  these 
reflections,  or  rather  this  compromise  with  his  conscience, 
Gilbert  locked  up  his  garden-tools,  and  took  his  evening 
meal  with  his  companions.  He  was  gay,  careless,  defiant 
even.  He  had  had  remorse,  he  had  been  afraid,  — a two- 
fold weakness  which  a man,  a philosopher,  must  hasten  to 
forget.  Only  he  reckoned  without  his  conscience ; Gilbert 
did  not  sleep. 


414 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

TWO  GRIEFS. 

Gilbert  had  rightly  judged  the  position  when  he  said, 
speaking  of  the  unknown  man  surprised  by  him  in  the 
gardens  on  that  evening  which  had  been  so  fatal  to 
Mademoiselle  de  Taverney,  “ Will  they  find  him  1 ” In 
fact  Philippe  wras  wholly  ignorant  of  the  place  of  residence 
of  Joseph  Balsamo,  Comte  de  Fenix.  But  he  remembered 
that  lady  of  quality,  that  Mafquise  de  Savigny,  to  whom, 
on  the  thirtieth  of  May,  Andree  had  been  conducted  to  be 
cared  for.  It  was  not  yet  too  late  to  present  himself  at 
the  house  of  this  lady,  who  lived  in  the  Rue  Saint  Honore. 
Philippe  restrained  the  agitation  of  his  mind  and  of  his 
senses ; he  ascended  to  the  apartments  of  the  lady,  and 
the  servant  gave  him  immediately  without  hesitation 
the  address  of  Balsamo,  Rue  Saint  Claude,  au  Marais. 
Philippe  hastened  directly  to  the  address  indicated. 

But  it  was  not  without  profound  emotion  that  he 
touched  the  knocker  of  this  suspicious  house,  where,  as  he 
thought,  were  forever  buried  the  repose  and  honor  of  poor 
Andree.  But  with  an  appeal  to  his  will  he  had  sufficiently 
overcome  indignation  and  emotion  to  preserve  the  strength 
which  he  was  sure  to  need.  He  knocked,  then,  with  a 
firm  hand  at  the  gate  of  the  house  which,  according  to  the 
custom  of  the  place,  flew  open.  Philippe  entered  the 
court,  holding  his  horse  by  the  bridle.  But  he  had  not 
taken  four  steps  when  Fritz,  coming  out  from  the  vestibule 


TWO  GRIEFS. 


415 


and  appearing  at  the  top  of  the  steps,  stopped  him  with 
this  question,  “ What  does  Monsieur  want  h ” 

Philippe  trembled  as  if  he  had  met  with  an  unforeseen 
obstacle.  He  looked  at  the  German,  knitting  his  brow 
as  if  Fritz  had  not  performed  his  simple  duty  as  an 
attendant. 

“ I wish  to  speak  to  the  master  of  the  house,  — to  Comte 
de  Fenix,”  replied  Philippe,  passing  the  bridle  of  his  horse 
through  a ring,  and  walking  toward  the  house,  which  he 
entered. 

“ Monsieur  is  not  at  home,”  said  Fritz,  letting  Philippe 
pass,  however,  with  the  politeness  of  a well-trained  ser- 
vant. Strange  thing  ! Philippe  seemed  to  have  antici- 
pated nothing  less  than  this  simple  reply.  He  remained 
for  a moment  abashed.  “ Where  can  I find  him  h ” he 
asked. 

“ I do  not  know,  Monsieur.” 

“ But  you  ought  to  know.” 

“ I beg  pardon,  Monsieur  does  not  account  to  me  for  his 
movements.” 

“ My  friend,”  said  Philippe,  “ I must,  however,  speak  to 
your  master  this  evening.” 

“ I doubt  if  it  is  possible.” 

“ It  must  be ; it  is  on  business  of  the  greatest 
importance.” 

Fritz  bowed  without  answering. 

“ He  has  gone  out,  then  ] ” asked  Philippe. 

“ Yes,  Monsieur.” 

“ He  will  return  of  course  ? ” 

“ I think  not,  Monsieur.” 

“ Ah,  you  think  not  1 ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Very  well,”  said  Philippe,  growing  impatient ; “ meair- 
while  go  tell  your  master  — ” 


416 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ But  I have  the  honor  of  informing  you,”  replied  the 
imperturbable  Fritz,  “ that  Monsieur  is  not  here.” 

“ I know  the  importance  of  orders,  my  friend,”  said 
Philippe,  “ and  yours  ought  to  he  regarded  ; but  it  cannot 
indeed  apply  to  me,  whose  visit  your  master  could  not 
anticipate,  and  who  come  here  accidentally.” 

“ The  order  is  for  everybody,  Monsieur,”  replied  Fritz, 
blundering. 

“ Then  since  there  is  an  order,”  said  Philippe,  “ the 
Comte  de  Fenix  is  here  ? ” 

“ Well,  what  then  1 ” said  Fritz,  becoming  impatient  in 
his  turn  at  such  persistence. 

“ Why,  I will  wait  for  him.” 

“ Monsieur  is  not  here,  I tell  you,”  he  replied;  u the 
house  took  fire  some  time  ago,  and  consequently  it  is  not 
habitable.” 

“You  live  in  it,  however,”  said  Philippe,  blundering  in 
his  turn. 

“ I live  here  as  keeper.” 

Philippe  shrugged  his  shoulders  like  a man  who  does 
not  believe  a word  of  what  is  told  him.  Fritz  began  to 
get  angry.  “ For  the  rest,”  he  said,  “ whether  Monsieur 
le  Comte  is  here  or  not,  it  is  not  usual  for  persons  to  enter 
his  house  by  force ; and  if  you  do  not  conform  to  custom, 
I shall  be  obliged  — ” Fritz  stopped. 

“ To  what  h ” asked  Philippe,  forgetting  himself. 

“To  put  you  out,”  replied  Fritz,  calmly. 

“ You  1 ” cried  Philippe,  his  eyes  flashing. 

“ I ! ” replied  Fritz,  resuming  with  the  characteristic  of 
his  nation  every  appearance  of  coolness  in  proportion  as 
his  anger  increased.  And  he  took  a step  toward  the  young 
man,  who,  exasperated  beyond  control,  drew  his  sword. 
Fritz,  not  alarmed  at  the  sight  of  the  blade,  without  call- 
ing for  help,  — he  might,  indeed,  have  been  alone,  — 


TWO  GRIEFS. 


417 


seized  from  an  armory  a sort  of  stake  armed  with  a short 
hut  sharp  blade,  and  throwing  himself  upon  Philippe  like 
a cudgel-player  rather  than  a fencer,  he  broke  into  a thou- 
sand pieces,  at  the  first  stroke,  the  blade  of  that  little 
sword.  Philippe  uttered  a cry  of  rage,  and  rushing  in  his 
turn  toward  the  armory,  tried  to  seize  a weapon  from  it. 
At  this  moment  the  secret  door  of  the  corridor  was  opened, 
and  the  count  appeared  coming  out  from  the  shadow. 

“ What  is  the  matter,  Fritz1?  ” he  asked. 

“ Nothing,  Monsieur,”  replied  the  servant,  putting  down 
his  stick,  but  placing  himself  like  a barrier  before  his  mas- 
ter, who,  standing  on  the  steps  of  the  private  staircase, 
was  more  elevated  than  he  by  half  his  height. 

“ Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Fenix,”  said  Philippe,  “ is  it 
the  custom  in  your  country  for  lackeys  to  receive  a gentle- 
man spear  in  hand,  or  is  it  an  order  peculiar  to  your  noble 
mansion  *?  ” 

Fritz  lowered  his  spear,  and  at  a sign  from  his  master 
put  it  in  the  corner  of  the  vestibule. 

“ Who  are  you,  Monsieur  ? ” asked  the  count,  who  could 
scarcely  see  Philippe  in  the  faint  light  of  the  lamp  which 
lighted  the  antechamber. 

“ Some  one  who  insists  on  speaking  with  you.” 

“ Who  insists  h ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ That  is  a word  which  fully  excuses  Fritz,  Monsieur  ; 
for  I wish  to  speak  to  no  one,  and  when  I am  at  home  I 
do  not  recognize  the  right  of  any  one  to  insist  on  speaking 
to  me.  You  are  then  guilty  of  a wrong  toward  me  ; but,” 
Balsarao  added  with  a sigh,  “ I pardon  you,  — on  the  con- 
dition, however,  that  you  retire  and  trouble  me  no  more.” 

“ It  well  becomes  you,  indeed,”  cried  Philippe,  “ to  ask 
for  peace,  — you,  who  have  destroyed  mine.” 

“ I have  destroyed  your  peace  1 n 
vol.  in.  — 27 


418 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ I am  Philippe  de  Taverney  ! ” cried  the  young  man, 
thinking  that  to  the  conscience  of  the  count  this  name 
would  explain  everything. 

“ Philippe  de  Taverney  ] Monsieur,”  said  the  count,  “ I 
was  well  received  at  your  father’s  house,  you  are  welcome 
to  mine.” 

“ Ah,  that  is  very  fortunate,”  murmured  Philippe. 

“ Please  to  follow  me,  Monsieur.” 

Balsam o shut  the  door  of  the  private  staircase,  and  pre- 
ceding Philippe,  he  conducted  him  to  the  salon,  where 
some  of  the  scenes  of  this  story  have  been  unfolded  to  our 
view,  — particularly  the  most  recent  of  all  which  had 
taken  place  there,  that  of  the  Five  Masters.  The  salon 
was  lighted  up  as  if  some  one  had  been  expected  ; but  it 
was  evident  that  this  was  one  of  the  luxurious  customs  of 
the  house. 

“ Good  evening,  Monsieur  de  Taverney,”  said  Balsamo, 
in  a tone  so  mild  and  suppressed  that  Philippe  involun- 
tarily looked  up  at  him.  But  at  the  sight  of  Balsamo  he 
stepped  back.  The  count  indeed  was  but  the  shadow  of 
himself,  — his  hollow  eyes  had  no  lustre  ; his  cheeks,  in 
growing  thin,  had  encircled  the  mouth  with  two  folds,  and 
the  facial  angle,  bare  and  bony,  made  the  whole  head  look 
like  a death’s  head.  Philippe  was  astounded.  Balsamo 
saw  his  astonishment,  and  a smile  of  mortal  sadness  passed 
over  his  white  lips.  “ Monsieur,”  he  said,  “ let  me  apolo- 
gize for  my  servant ; but  indeed  he  followed  his  orders, 
and  you  — allow  me  to  say  so  — were  wrong  in  forcing 
him.” 

“ Monsieur,”  said  Philippe,  “ there  are,  you  know,  in 
life  extreme  situations,  and  I was  in  one  of  these  situa- 
tions.” Balsamo  did  not  answer.  “I  wished  to  see  you," 
continued  Philippe  ; “ I wished  to  speak  to  you;  I would 
have  braved  death  in  order  to  gain  admission  to  you.” 


TWO  GRIEFS. 


419 


Balsamo  remained  silent  and  seemed  to  await  an  expla- 
nation of  the  words  of  the  young  man,  without  having  the 
strength  or  the  curiosity  to  ask  for  it. 

“ I have  you  now,”  continued  Philippe,  — “ I have  you 
now  at  length,  and  we  will  come  to  an  explanation  if  you 
please  ; but  in  the  first  place  be  so  good  as  to  dismiss  that 
man.”  And  Philippe  pointed  to  Fritz,  who  had  just  raised 
the  portiere  as  if  to  ask  his  master  his  last  orders  respecting 
the  importunate  visitor. 

Balsamo  fixed  upon  Philippe  a look,  the  object  of  which 
was  to  discover  his  intentions  ; but  finding  himself  in  the 
presence  of  a man  his  equal  in  rank  and  distinction,  Phi- 
lippe had  recovered  calmness  and  presence  of  mind  ; he 
was  impenetrable.  Balsamo,  therefore,  by  a simple  motion 
of  the  head,  or  rather  eyebrows,  dismissed  Fritz,  and  the 
two  men  sat  down  opposite  each  other,  Philippe  with  his 
back  to  the  fireplace,  Balsamo  with  his  elbow  resting  on  a 
small  table. 

“ Speak  quickly,  and  clearly,  if  you  please,  Monsieur,’ * 
said  Balsamo,  “ for  I listen  to  you  only  through  kindness, 
and  I warn  you  that  I shall  be  quickly  fatigued.” 

“ I shall  speak  as  I ought,  Monsieur,  and  as  long  as  I 
think  proper,”  said  Philippe;  “and  with  your  permission, 
I will  begin  with  a question.” 

At  this  word  a terrible  frown  shot  from  the  eyes  of  Bal- 
samo an  electric  flash.  This  word  brought  to  his  mind 
such  memories  that  Philippe  would  have  trembled  if  he 
had  known  what  commotion  he  had  excited  in  the  depths 
of  this  man’s  heart.  However,  after  a moment’s  silence  to 
gain  command  over  himself,  Balsamo  said,  “Ask  your 
question.” 

“Monsieur,”  replied  Philippe,  “you  have  never  ex- 
plained satisfactorily  how  you  spent  the  time  during  that 
famous  night  of  the  thirtieth  of  May,  from  the  moment 


420 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


when  you  raised  my  sister  from  among  the  dying  and  the 
dead  who  crowded  the  Place  Louis  XVJ  ** 

“ What  does  that  signify  ? ” asked  Balsamo. 

“ It  signifies,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  that  your  whole  con- 
duct on  that  night  has  been  and  is  now  more  than  ever 
subject  to  suspicion.*1 ' 

“ Suspicion  1 ** 

“ Yes ; and  in  all  probability,  it  has  not  been  the  con- 
duct of  a man  of  honor.” 

“ Monsieur,”  said  Balsamo,  “ I do  not  understand  you ; 
you  must  see  that  my  head  is  weary,  weak,  and  that  this 
weakness  naturally  makes  me  impatient.” 

“ Monsieur  ! ” cried  Philippe,  in  his  turn  irritated  by 
Balsamo*s  tone,  at  once  haughty  and  calm. 

“ Monsieur,”  continued  Balsamo,  in  the  same  tone, 
“ since  I last  had  the  honor  of  seeing  you  I have  met  with 
a great  misfortune  : my  house  has  been  partly  burned,  and 
I have  lost  many  precious  treasures,  — very  precious,  un- 
derstand ; in  consequence  of  this  trouble  I am  somewhat 
confused.  Be,  therefore,  very  clear,  I beg,  or  P shall  take 
leave  of  you  immediately.” 

“ Oh,  no,  Monsieur,”  said  Philippe,  “ no,  you  will  not 
take  leave  of  me  so  easily  as  you  say.  I shall  respect  your 
sorrow  if  you  show  yourself  considerate  of  mine  ; to  me, 
also,  Monsieur,  there  has  come  a great  misfortune,  — much 
greater  than  yours,  I am  sure.” 

Balsamo  smiled  with  that  smile  of  despair  which  Phi- 
lippe had  already  seen  upon  his  lips. 

“I,  Monsieur,”  continued  Philippe,  “ have  lost  the 
honor  of  my  family.** 

“Well,  Monsieur,**  replied  Balsamo,  “how  can  I help 
you  in  this  misfortune  ? ** 

“ How  can  you  help  me  'l  **  cried  Philippe,  with  flashing 
eyes. 


TWO  GRIEFS. 


421 


“ Certainly.” 

“ You  can  restore  me  what  I have  lost,  Monsieur ! ” 

“ Ah,  you  are  mad,  Monsieur  ! ” cried  Balsamo,  and  he 
reached  for  the  bell.  But  he  made  this  movement  so 
gently  and  with  so  little  anger  that  Philippe’s  arm  easily 
stopped  him. 

“ I am  mad  1 ” cried  Philippe,  in  an  angry  tone.  “ But 
you  do  not  understand  that  I refer  to  my  sister,  whom  you 
held  fainting  in  your  arms  on  the  thirtieth  of  May,  — my 
sister,  whom  you  conveyed  to  a house,  which  you  said 
was  respectable,  but,  as  I think,  infamous,  — to  my  sister, 
in  a word,  whose  honor  I demand  sword  in  hand  ] ” 

Balsamo  shrugged  his  shoulders.  “ Eh,  good  God  ! ” 
he  murmured,  “ how  many  turnings  to  reach  a thing  so 
simple ! ” 

“ Scoundrel ! ” cried  Philippe. 

“ What  a deplorable  voice  you  have,  Monsieur  ! ” said 
Balsamo,  with  the  same  gloomy  impatience ; “ you  stun 
me.  Why,  you  do  not  come  here  to  tell  me  that  I have 
insulted  your  sister  ] ” 

“Yes,  coward  ! ” 

“ Again  an  exclamation,  and  a useless  insult,  Monsieur ; 
who  the  devil  has  told  you  that  I have  insulted  your 
sister]  ” 

Philippe  hesitated  ; the  tone  with  which  Balsamo  pro- 
nounced these  words  amazed  him.  It  was  the  height  of 
impudence,  or  it  was  the  cry  of  a clear  conscience.  “ Who 
told  mel  ” replied  the  young  man. 

“Yes,  I demand  it  of  you.” 

“ My  sister  herself,  Monsieur.” 

“Well,  Monsieur,  your  sister  — ” 

“You  are  about  to  say 1 ” cried  Philippe,  with  a threat- 
ening gesture. 

“ I was  about  to  say.  Monsieur,  that  you  give  me  a very 


422 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


poor  idea  both  of  yourself  and  your  sister.  It  is  the  worst 
speculation  in  the  world,  do  you  know,  that  which  certain 
women  make  on  their  dishonor.  Now  you  have  come 
with  insult  in  your  mouth,  like  the  bearded  brothers  of 
the  Italian  comedy,  sword  in  hand,  to  force  me  either  to 
marry  your  sister,  which  shows  that  she  is  in  great  want 
of  a husband,  or  to  give  you  money  because  you  know 
that  I make  gold.  Well,  you  are  very  much  mistaken  on 
both  points, — you  will  not  have  money,  and  your  sister 
will  remain  unmarried.” 

“Then,  I will  have  the  blood  which  flows  in  your 
veins,”  cried  Philippe,  “ if  there  is  any.” 

“No,  not  even  that,  Monsieur.” 

“ Why  not?” 

“ The  blood  I have,  I keep,  and  I could  have  had,  if  I 
wished,  a cause  for  shedding  it  more  serious  than  the  one 
you  offer  me.  Therefore,  Monsieur,  do  me  the  favor  to 
return  peacefully  ; and  if  you  make  a noise,  as  the  noise 
will  make  my  head  ache,  I shall  call  Fritz.  Fritz  will  come, 
and  at  a sign  from  me,  he  will  break  you  in  two  like  a twig. 
Go  ! ” This  time  Balsam o rang,  and  as  Philippe  tried  to 
prevent  him,  he  opened  an  ebony  box  sitting  on  the  little 
table,  and  took  from  it  a double-barrelled  pistol. 

“ Well,  I like  that  better,”  cried  Philippe ; “ kill  me  ! ” 

“ Why  should  I kill  you  ? ” 

“ Because  you  have  dishonored  me.”  The  young  man 
pronounced,  in  his  turn,  these  words  with  such  an  accent 
of  truth  that  Balsamo,  looking  at  him  with  eyes  full 
of  kindness,  said,  “ Is  it  possible  then  that  you  are  in 

earnest  ? ” 

“ You  doubt  it  ? you  doubt  the  word  of  a gentleman  ? ” 

“And  that  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  could  have  her- 
self conceived  this  infamous  idea,  and  that  she  could  have 
urged  you  to  carry  it  out?  Well,  if  it  be  so,  I will  give 


TWO  GRIEFS. 


423 


yon  satisfaction.  I swear  to  you  on  my  honor  that  my 
conduct  toward  Mademoiselle  your  sister  on  the  night  of 
the  thirtieth  of  May  was  irreproachable;  that  neither 
honor,  nor  human  tribunal,  nor  divine  justice,  could  dis- 
cover in  it  anything  contrary  to  the  most  perfect  probity ; 
do  you  believe  me  % ” 

“ Monsieur  ! ” said  the  young  man,  astonished. 

“ You  know  that  I do  not  fear  a duel,  — you  read  that 
in  my  eyes,  do  you  not  As  to  my  weakness,  do  not  be 
deceived  ; it  is  only  apparent.  I have  little  blood  in  my 
face,  it  is  true ; but  my  muscles  have  lost  nothing  of  their 
strength.  Do  you  wish  for  a proof  of  it  h See  ! ” And 
Balsamo  raised  with  a single  hand,  and  without  effort,  an 
enormous  bronze  vase  placed  on  a stand  carved  by  Boule. 

“Well,  so  be  it,  Monsieur, ” said  Philippe;  “I  believe 
you  as  to  the  thirtieth  of  May.  But  you  employ  subter- 
fuge ; you  take  advantage  of  an  error  in  time.  Since  that 
you  have  seen  my  sister  again.” 

Balsamo  hesitated  in  his  turn.  “ It  is  true,”  said  he, 
“ I have  seen  her  since  ; ” and  his  brow,  clear  for  a mo- 
ment, grew  dark  in  a terrible  manner. 

“ Ah,  you  see  plainly  ! ” said  Philippe. 

“ Well,  I have  seen  your  sister  again.  What  does  that 
prove  against  me  'l  ” 

“ It  proves  that  you  have  put  her  into  this  inexplicable 
sleep,  of  which,  three  times  already,  at  your  approach,  she 
has  felt  the  effect,  and  that  you  have  taken  advantage  of 
this  insensibility  to  cover  the  secret  of  your  crime.” 

“ Once  more,  who  says  that  1 ” cried  Balsamo. 

“ My  sister.” 

“ How  does  she  know  it,  since  she  was  asleep  1 ” 

“ Ah,  you  confess,  then,  that  she  was  put  to  sleep  ? ” 

“ More,  Monsieur ; I confess  to  having  magnetized  her 
myself.” 


424 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Magnetized  her  1 99 
“ Yes.” 

“ And  with  what  object,  if  not  to  dishonor  her  ? 99 
“ With  what  object,  alas  ! ” said  Balsamo,  dropping  his 
head  upon  his  breast. 

“ Speak,  speak,  then  ! ” 

“ With  the  object,  Monsieur,  of  making  her  reveal  a 
secret  which  was  more  precious  to  me  than  life.” 

“ Oh,  trickery,  subterfuge  ! ” 

“And  it  was  during  this  night,”  continued  Balsamo, 
following  out  his  own  thought,  rather  than  answering 
Philippe’s  insulting  question,  “that  your  sister — ” 

“ Was  dishonored  ; yes,  Monsieur.” 

“ Dishonored  ] ” 

“ My  sister  is  a mother ! ” 

Balsamo  uttered  a cry.  “ Oh,  true,  true  ! ” said  he,  “ I 
remember  ; I went  off  without  waking  her.” 

“ You  confess  ! you  confess  ! ” cried  Philippe. 

“ And  some  villain,  during  that  terrible  night,  — oh, 
terrible  for  us  all,  Monsieur ! — took  advantage  of  her 
sleep.” 

“ Ah  ! would  you  mock  me,  Monsieur  ? ” 

“ No ; I would  convince  you.” 

“ That  will  be  difficult.” 

“ Where  is  your  sister  at  this  moment  ? ” 

“ There,  where  you  so  conveniently  discovered  her.” 

“ At  Trianon  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ I will  go  to  Trianon  with  you,  Monsieur.” 

Philippe  was  motionless  with  astonishment. 

“ I have  committed  a fault,  Monsieur,  but  I am  guilt- 
less of  crime.  I left  that  child  in  a magnetic  sleep.  Well, 
as  satisfaction  for  this  fault,  which  may  justly  be  forgiven 
me,  I myself  will  tell  you  the  name  of  the  guilty  man.” 


TWO  GRIEFS. 


425 


“Tell  it!  tell  it!” 

“ I do  not  know  it  myself,”  said  Balsamo. 

“ Who  does  know  it,  then  ? ” 

“ Your  sister.” 

“ But  she  has  refused  to  tell  me.” 

“ Perhaps,  but  she  will  tell  it  to  me.” 

“ My  sister  ? ” 

“ If  your  sister  accuses  any  one,  will  you  believe  her?” 
“ Yes  ; for  my  sister  is  an  angel  of  purity.” 

Balsamo  rang.  “ Fritz,  a carriage,”  said  he,  when  the 
German  appeared. 

Philippe  paced  the  room  like  a madman.  “ The  guilty 
one  ! ” said  he  ; “ you  promise  to  inform  me  who  he  is  % ” 
“ Monsieur,”  said  Balsamo,  “ your  sword  has  been 
broken  in  the  struggle.  Permit  me  to  offer  you  another ; ” 
and  he  took  from  a chair  a magnificent  sword,  with  hilt 
of  silver-gilt,  which  he  drew  through  Philippe’s  belt. 

“ But  you  ? ” said  the  young  man. 

“ I,  Monsieur,  do  not  need  weapons,”  replied  Balsamo ; 
u my  defence  is  at  Trianon,  and  my  defender  will  be  your- 
self, when  your  sister  shall  have  spoken.”  A quarter  of 
an  hour  after,  they  entered  the  carriage,  and  Fritz,  driving 
two  excellent  horses  at  a rapid  pace,  conveyed  them  to 
V ersailles. 


426 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  XLYII. 

THE  RIDE  TO  TRIANON. 

All  these  journeys  and  all  this  explanation  had  taken 
time,  so  that  it  was  nearly  two  o’clock  in  the  morning 
when  they  left  the  Rue  Saint  Claude.  It  took  an  hour 
and  a quarter  to  reach  Versailles,  and  ten  minutes  to  go 
from  Versailles  to  Trianon,  so  that  it  was  half-past  three 
before  the  two  men  reached  their  destination.  During 
the  last  part  of  the  way,  the  dawn  already  spread  its  rosy 
tint  on  the  green  forests  and  the  hillsides  of  Sevres.  As 
if  a veil  had  been  slowly  withdrawn  from  their  eyes,  the 
fish-ponds  of  Ville  dAvray,  and  the  more  distant  ones  of 
Buc,  were  shining  like  mirrors.  Then  at  last  appeared 
the  colonnades  and  roofs  of  Versailles,  already  red  with 
the  rays  of  a sun  not  yet  visible.  From  time  to  time  a 
window  sparkled  with  the  reflection  of  a ray  of  fire,  which 
penetrated  with  its  light  the  violet  tint  of  the  morning’s 
mist.  On  coming  to  the  end  of  the  avenue  that  leads 
from  Versailles  to  Trianon,  Philippe  stopped  the  carriage, 
and  addressing  his  companion,  who  during  the  journey 
had  preserved  a gloomy  silence,  “ Monsieur,”  said  he, 
“we  shall  be  obliged,  I am  afraid,  to  wait  here  some 
time.  At  Trianon  the  gates  are  not  opened  before  five  in 
the  morning,  and  I am  afraid  that  if  we  enter  earlier  our 
arrival  will  look  suspicious  to  the  watchmen  and  the 
guards.” 

Balsamo  did  not  reply,  but  showed  by  a movement  of 
the  head  that  he  acquiesced  in  the  proposition. 


THE  RIDE  TO  TRIANON. 


427 


“ However,  Monsieur,”  continued  Philippe,  “ tliis  delay- 
will  give  me  time  to  impart  to  you  some  reflections  made 
during  our  journey  hither/1 

Balsamo  gave  Philippe  a look  full  of  weariness  and  in- 
difference. “ As  you  please,  Monsieur,7 * said  he ; “ speak, 
I am  listening  ! 77 

“ You  told  me,  Monsieur,77  replied  Philippe,  “ that  dur- 
ing the  night  of  the  thirtieth  of  May  you  placed  my  sister 
in  the  house  of  Madame  la  Marquise  de  Savigny]77 

“ You  were  assured  of  it  yourself,  Monsieur,77  said  Bal- 
samo, “ since  you  called  to  thank  that  lady.77 

“You  then  added  that,  as  an  attendant  in  the  king’s 
stables  had  accompanied  you  from  the  hotel  of  the  mar- 
chioness to  our  house,  that  is,  to  the  Rue  Coq-Heron,  you 
had  not  been  alone  with  her;  I believed  you  on  your 
word  of  honor.77 

“ And  you  did  well,  Monsieur.77 

“ But  in  recalling  to  myself  the  more  recent  circum- 
stances, I am  forced  to  think  that  a month  since  at  Tria- 
non, that  night  when  you  found  a way  to  slip  into  the 
gardens,  you  must  have  entered  her  chamber.77 

“ I never  entered  the  chamber  of  your  sister  at  Trianon, 
Monsieur.” 

“ Listen,  however  ! you  see  that  before  coming  into 
the  presence  of  Andree,  all  things  must  be  made 
clear.77 

“ Clear  up  matters,  Monsieur  le  Chevalier.  I ask  noth- 
ing better,  and  we  have  come  here  for  that  purpose.” 

“ Well,  on  that  night,  — be  careful  in  your  answer,  for 
what  I say  is  true,  and  I have  it  from  the  lips  of  my  sis- 
ter, — on  that  night,  I say,  my  sister  retired  early  ; you 
must  then  have  surprised  her  in  bed  ] 77 

Balsamo  shook  his  head  by  way  of  denial. 

“ You  deny  it ; take  care ! 77  said  Philippe. 


428 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“I  do  not  deny,  Monsieur;  you  question  me,  I answer.’’ 

“ Well,  I shall  go  on  questioning;  continue  therefore 
to  reply.” 

Balsamo  did  not  become  angry,  but  on  the  contrary 
made  a sign  to  Philippe  to  go  on. 

“When  you  ascended  to  the  apartments  of  my  sister,” 
continued  Philippe,  becoming  more  and  more  excited, 
“when  you  surprised  her,  and  magnetized  her  by  your 
infernal  power,  Andree  was  in  bed ; she  was  reading  ; she 
felt  the  approach  of  that  torpor  which  your  presence 
always  brings  upon  her,  and  she  lost  consciousness.  Now 
you  say  that  you  did  nothing  but  question  her ; only,  you 
add  that  you  forgot  when  going  away  to  awaken  her ; and 
yet,”  added  Philippe,  seizing  Balsamo’s  arm,  and  pressing 
it  convulsively,  — “ yet,  when  she  came  to  her  senses  the 
next  day,  she  was  no  longer  in  bed,  but  at  the  foot  of 
her  sofa,  half-naked.  Beply  to  this  accusation,  Monsieur, 
without  evasion.” 

During  this  appeal,  Balsamo,  like  a man  waking  up, 
drove  away  one  by  one  the  gloomy  thoughts  which 
obscured  his  mind.  “ Indeed,  Monsieur,”  said  he,  “ you 
need  not  have  returned  to  this  subject,  thus  seeking  with 
me  a lasting  quarrel.  I have  come  here  out  of  condescen- 
sion and  from  interest  in  you,  — you  seem  to  forget  that. 
You  are  young,  you  are  an  officer,  you  are  accustomed  to 
speak  out  with  your  band  on  the  pommel  of  your  sword. 
All  this  makes  you  reason  falsely  in  serious  circumstances. 
At  my  own  house  I did  more  than  I ought  to  have  done  to 
convince  you,  and  obtain  from  you  a little  peace.  You 
begin  again ; take  care,  for  if  you  fatigue  me,  I shall  go  to 
sleep  in  the  midst  of  my  troubles,  in  comparison  with 
which  yours  are,  I assure  you,  mere  trifles;  and  when  I 
sleep  thus,  Monsieur,  woe  to  him  who  wakes  me ! I did 
not  enter  your  sister’s  chamber ; that  is  all  I can  tell  you. 


THE  RIDE  TO  TRIANON, 


429 


Your  sister  of  her  own  free  will,  in  which  I confess  my 
will  had  great  share,  came  to  me  in  the  garden.” 

Philippe  made  a movement,  but  Balsamo  stopped  him. 
“ I promised  you  proof,”  continued  he  ; “ you  shall  have 
it.  Shall  it  be  immediately  *1  So  be  it.  Let  us  enter 
Trianon  instead  of  wasting  time  in  useless  talking.  Do 
you  prefer  to  wait  (l  We  will  wait,  then ; but  in  silence 
and  without  excitement  if  you  please.”  This  said,  with 
the  air  with  which  our  readers  are  acquainted,  Bal- 
samo, the  momentary  gleam  fading  from  his  eyes,  became 
absorbed  in  meditation. 

Philippe  uttered  a low  growl,  like  the  ferocious  beast 
which  is  preparing  to  bite  ; then  changing  suddenly  his 
attitude  and  thought,  “ With  this  man,”  said  he,  “ one 
must  persuade  or  dominate  by  some  superiority.  I have 
just  now  no  means  of  domination  or  persuasion ; I must 
have  patience.”  But  as  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  be 
patient  in  the  presence  of  Balsamo,  he  jumped  out  of  the 
carriage  and  began  pacing  the  verdant  alley  in  which 
the  carriage  had  stopped.  At  the  end  of  ten  minutes, 
Philippe  felt  that  it  was  impossible  to  wait  any  longer. 
He  preferred  to  have  the  gate  opened  before  the  hour,  at 
the  risk  of  arousing  suspicions.  “ Besides,”  he  murmured, 
cherishing  an  idea  which  many  times  before  had  presented 
itself  to  his  mind,  — “ besides,  what  suspicions  can  the  por- 
ter entertain,  if  I say  to  him  that  anxiety  about  the  health 
of  my  sister  impelled  me  to  go  to  Paris  for  a physician, 
and  bring  him  here  by  sunrise'?” 

Adopting  this  idea,  which  by  reason  of  his  desire  to  put 
it  into  execution,  had  gradually  lost  its  dangerous  aspect, 
he  ran  to  the  carriage.  “ Yes,  Monsieur,”  he  said, 
“ you  are  right  ; it  is  useless  to  wait  longer,  come, 
come  ! ” 

But  it  was  only  on  a repetition  of  this  request  that 


430 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Balsamo  threw  off  his  cloak,  fastened  his  great  coat  with 
burnished  steel  buttons,  and  left  the  carriage.  Philippe 
took  a path  which  led  by  a short  cut  to  the  gate  of  the 
park.  “ Let  us  walk  quickly,”  he  said  to  Balsamo.  And 
he  went  on  so  rapidly  that  Balsamo  could  with  difficulty 
keep  up  with  him.  The  gate  was  opened,  Philippe  gave 
his  explanation,  and  the  two  men  passed  in.  When  the 
gate  was  closed  behind  them,  Philippe  stopped  once  more. 
“ Monsieur,”  he  said,  “ one  final  word.  We  are  at  the 
end  of  our  journey  ; I do  not  know  what  question  you 
are  about  to  ask  my  sister.  Spare  her  at  least  the  details 
of  the  horrible  scene  which  took  place  during  her  sleep. 
Spare  the  purity  of  mind,  though  the  purity  of  the  body 
has  been  soiled.” 

“ Monsieur,”  replied  Balsamo,  “ observe  carefully  what 
I say ; I never  entered  the  park  beyond  the  tall  trees  you 
see  yonder,  opposite  the  house  in  which  your  sister  lives. 
I have  consequently  never  gone  into  the  chamber  of 
Mademoiselle  de  Taverney,  as  I have  already  had  the 
honor  of  telling  you.  As  to  the  scene  whose  effect  you 
dread  upon  the  mind  of  Mademoiselle,  your  sister,  this 
effect  will  be  produced  only  upon  you,  because  from  this 
very  moment  I order  Mademoiselle,  your  sister,  to  fall  into 
a magnetic  sleep.” 

Balsamo  stopped,  folded  his  arms,  turned  toward  the 
pavilion  where  Andree  lived,  and  stood  one  moment  mo- 
tionless, with  knitted  brow  and  with  the  expression  of  all- 
powerful  will  upon  his  countenance. 

“And  stay,”  he  said,  letting  his  arms  fall,  “Mademoi- 
selle Andree  must  be  sleeping  at  this  moment.” 

Philippe’s  face  expressed  doubt. 

“Ah,  you  do  not  believe  me,”  said  Balsamo.  “Well, 
listen.  To  prove  to  you  that  I have  no  occasion  to  go  in 
to  her,  I will  command  her,  asleep  as  she  is,  to  come  to  us 


THE  RIDE  TO  TRIANON. 


431 


at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  at  the  very  spot  where  I spoke  to 
her  at  our  last  interview.” 

“Beit  so,”  said  Philippe;  “when  I see  that  I shall 
believe.” 

“ Let  us  go  into  this  walk,  and  wait  behind  the  hedge.” 

Philippe  and  Balsamo  repaired  to  the  place  designated. 
Balsamo  extended  his  hand  toward  the  apartment  of 
Andree ; but  he  had  scarcely  done  so,  when  a slight  noise 
was  heard  in  the  adjoining  hedge-row. 

“A  man,”  said  Balsamo  ; “let  us  be  careful.” 

“ Where  1 ” asked  Philippe,  searching  for  the  person 
whom  the  count  had  spoken  of. 

“ There,  in  the  shrubbery  on  the  left,”  said  the  latter. 

“ Ah,  yes,”  said  Philippe  ; “ it  is  Gilbert,  an  old  servant 
of  ours.” 

“ Have  you  anything  to  fear  from  this  young  man  ? ” 

“ No,  I think  not;  but  no  matter.  Stop,  Monsieur; 
If  Gilbert  has  risen,  others  may  have  risen  as  well.” 

Meantime  Gilbert  had  fled  in  fright ; for  seeing  Philippe 
and  Balsamo  together,  he  comprehended  instinctively 
that  he  was  lost. 

“ Well,  Monsieur,  on  what  do  you  decide  1 ” 

“Monsieur,”  said  Philippe,  experiencing  in  spite  of 
himself  the  sort  of  magnetic  charm  which  this  man  dif- 
fused around  him,  “ if  your  power  is  really  so  great  as  to 
lead  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  to  us,  show  it  by  some 
sign  ; but  do  not  bring  my  sister  to  a place  exposed  like 
this,  where  the  first-comer  might  hear  your  questions  and 
her  answers.” 

“ You  spoke  in  time,”  said  Balsamo,  seizing  the  arm  of 
the  young  man  and  pointing  out  to  him,  at  the  window 
of  the  main  corridor,  Andree,  white  and  rigid,  who  had 
left  her  chamber,  and  obeying  Balsamo’s  command  was 
preparing  to  descend  the  stairs. 


432 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Stop  her ; stop  her  ! ” said  Philippe,  frightened  and 
astonished  at  the  same  time. 

“ Be  it  so/*  said  Balsamo.  The  count  extended  his  arm 
in  the  direction  of  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney,  who  imme- 
diately stopped.  Then  after  stopping  a moment,  she  turned 
right  about  and  entered  her  chamber.  Philippe  hurried 
after  her,  Balsamo  following  him,  and  entered  the  room 
almost  as  soon  as  Andree,  and  taking  the  young  girl  in  his 
arms,  he  made  her  sit  down.  A few  moments  later  Bal- 
samo came  in  and  shut  the  door  behind  him.  But  brief 
as  the  interval  between  these  entrances,  a third  person  had 
had  time  to  slip  in  between  the  two  men  and  enter  Nicole’s 
cabinet,  where  he  hid  himself,  knowing  that  his  life  de- 
pended on  this  interview.  This  third  person  was  Gilbert. 


THE  REVELATION. 


433 


CHAPTER  XLYIII. 

THE  REVELATION. 

Balsamo  closed  the  door  behind  him,  and  appeared  on  the 
threshold  just  as  Philippe  was  looking  at  his  sister  with 
mingled  terror  and  curiosity.  “Are  you  ready,  Chev- 
alier > ” he  asked. 

“ Yes,  Monsieur,  yes,”  stammered  Philippe,  trembling. 
“We  can  begin  then,  to  question  your  sister  1 ” 

“If  you  please,”  said  Philippe,  trying  to  raise  by  force 
of  respiration  the  weight  which  was  crushing  his  breast. 

“ But  before  we  begin,  observe  your  sister.” 

“ I see  her,  Monsieur.” 

“You  really  believe  that  she  sleeps,  do  you  notl” 
“Yes” 

“ And  that  consequently  she  has  no  consciousness  of 
what  takes  place  here  1 ” 

Philippe  made  no  reply,  except  by  a gesture  which  ex- 
pressed doubt.  Balsamo  then  went  to  the  fireplace  and 
lighted  a candle,  which  he  passed  before  Andree’s  eyes 
without  causing  her  to  move  an  eyelid. 

“ Yes,  yes ; she  sleeps,  it  is  evident,”  said  Philippe  ; 
“ but,  good  Heavens  ! wThat  a strange  sleep  ! ” 

“Well,  I will  question  her,”  continued  Balsamo;  “or 
rather,  since  you  have  manifested  fear  lest  I address  her  some 
indiscreet  interrogation,  question  her  yourself,  Chevalier.” 
“ But  I have  spoken  to  her ; I touched  her  just  now. 
She  did  not  seem  to  hear  me,  she  did  not  seem  to  feel  my 
touch.” 

vol.  hi.  — 28 


434 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ I will  put  you  in  connection  with  her,”  and  Balsamo 
placed  Philippe’s  hand  in  that  of  Andree. 

Immediately  the  young  girl  smiled,  and  murmured, 
“ Ah,  it  is  you,  brother  1 ” 

“ You  see,”  said  Balsamo,  “ she  recognizes  you 
now.” 

“ Yes  ; it  is  strange.” 

“ Question  her,  she  will  answer.” 

“ But  if  she  does  not  remember  when  awake,  how  can 
she  remember  when  asleep  ? ” 

“ It  is  one  of  the  mysteries  of  science,”  and  Balsamo, 
sighing,  sat  down  upon  an  easy  chair  in  a corner. 

Philippe  sat  motionless,  his  hand  in  Andree’s.  How 
should  he  begin  his  questioning,  the  result  of  which  would 
assure  him  of  his  dishonor,  and  reveal  a criminal  whom 
perhaps  his  vengeance  could  not  reach  ? As  for  Andree, 
she  was  in  a state  of  calmness  bordering  on  ecstasy,  and 
her  face  expressed  peace  rather  than  any  other  feeling. 
Trembling  all  over,  he  obeyed  nevertheless  the  expressive 
glance  of  Balsamo,  which  bade  him  begin.  But  in  propor- 
tion as  he  contemplated  his  misfortune,  as  his  face  grew 
dark,  that  of  Andree  was  covered  with  a cloud,  and  it  was 
she  who  began  by  saying,  “ Yes,  you  are  right,  brother ; 
it  is  a great  misfortune  for  the  family.” 

Andree  interpreted  thus  the  thought  which  she  read  in 
her  brother’s  mind.  Philippe  was  not  expecting  this 
beginning ; he  started,  “ What  misfortune  ? ” he  asked? 
without  considering  his  answer. 

“ Ah,  you  know  well,  brother.” 

“ Force  her  to  speak,  Monsieur ; she  will  speak.” 

“ How  can  I force  her?  ” 

“ Will  her  to  speak,  that  is  all.” 

Philippe  looked  at  his  sister,  forming  a wish  in  his  mind. 
Andree  blushed. 


THE  REVELATION. 


435 


“ Oh  ! ” said  the  young  girl,  “ how  bad  it  is  of  you, 
Philippe,  to  think  that  Andree  has  deceived  you.” 

“ You  love  no  one,  then  ] 99 
“ No  one.” 

“ Then  it  is  not  an  accomplice,  it  is  a criminal  I must 
punish ! ” 

“ I do  not  understand  you,  brother.” 

Philippe  looked  at  the  count  as  if  to  ask  advice, 

“ Press  her,”  said  Balsamo. 

“ Press  her  ] 99 

“Yes,  question  her  freely.” 

“ Without  respect  for  the  modesty  of  this  child  ] ” 

“ Oh,  do  not  be  alarmed ; on  awaking  she  will  remem- 
ber nothing  of  it.” 

“ But  can  she  answer  my  questions  ] ” 

“Do  you  see  clearly1?”  Balsamo  asked  Andree. 

Andree  started  at  the  sound  of  this  voice  ; she  turned 
her  lustreless  eyes  toward  Balsamo.  “ Not  so  clearly  as  if 
you  questioned  me  ; but  still  I see.” 

“Well,”  Philippe  asked,  “if  you  see,  sister,  give  me 
an  account  in  detail  of  that  night  when  you  fainted 
away.” 

“ Do  you  not  begin  with  the  night  of  the  thirtieth  of 
May,  Monsieur]  Your  suspicions  date  from  that  night,  I 
think.  The  time  has  come  to  clear  up  everything  at 
once.” 

“No,  Monsieur,”  replied  Philippe;  “it  is  useless,  and 
now  I trust  your  word.  He  who  wields  a power  like 
yours,  does  not  use  it  for  the  attainment  of  any  common 
object.  Sister,”  repeated  Philippe,  “ tell  me  everything 
that  happened  on  that  night  of  your  swoon.” 

“ I do  not  remember,”  said  Andree. 

“ You  hear,  Monsieur  le  Comte  ] ” 

“ She  must  remember  ; she  must  speak.  Order  her  to.” 


436 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ But  if  she  was  asleep  1 99 

“ The  mind  was  awake.”  Then  he  arose,  held  out  his 
hand  to  Andr^e,  and  with  a knitting  of  the  brows  which 
indicated  a redoubling  of  will  and  action,  “ Remember,”  he 
said;  “ I will  it.” 

“ I remember,”  said  Andree. 

“ Oh  ! ” said  Philippe,  wiping  his  forehead. 

“ What  do  you  wish  to  know  ? ” 

“ Everything.” 

“ From  what  moment  h ” 

“ From  the  moment  when  you  retired  to  bed.” 

“ Do  you  see  yourself  h ” said  Balsamo. 

“ Yes,  I see  myself ; I hold  in  my  hand  the  glass  pre- 
pared by  Nicole — Oh,  my  God  !” 

“ What  1 what  is  it  'l  ” 

“ Oh,  the  wretch  ! ” 

“ Speak,  sister  ; speak  ! ” 

“ This  glass  contains  a drink  which  has  been  drugged  ; 
if  I drink  it,  I am  lost.” 

“ A drink  which  has  been  drugged  ! ” cried  Philippe  ; 
“ for  what  object  % ” 

“ Wait ! wait ! ” 

“ First,  about  the  drink.” 

u I was  about  to  raise  it  to  my  lips ; but  — at  that 
moment  — ” 

“WelU” 

“ The  count  called  me.” 

“ What  count  1 ” 

u He,”  said  Andree,  pointing  to  Balsamo. 

“ And  then » ” 

“Then  I put  down  the  glass  and  went  to  sleep.” 

“ What  next  1 what  next  ? ” asked  Philippe. 

“ I arose  and  joined  him.” 

“ Where  was  the  count  ? ” 


THE  REVELATION. 


437 


" Under  the  lime-trees  opposite  my  window.” 

“ And  the  count  never  entered  your  room,  sister ! ” 

“ Never.” 

A glance  from  Balsamo  toward  Philippe  said  clearly, 
“ You  see  whether  I deceive  you,  Monsieur'?” 

“ And  you  say  you  went  to  join  the  count  1 ” 

“Yes  ; I obey  him  when  he  calls  me.” 

“ What  did  the  count  want  of  you  1 ” 

Andree  hesitated. 

“ Say,  say  ! ” cried  Balsamo  ; “ I will  not  listen,”  and 
he  fell  back  into  his  chair,  burying  his  head  in  his  hands 
as  if  to  prevent  the  sound  of  Andree’s  words  from  reaching 
him. 

“ Speak ! What  did  the  count  want  1 ” repeated 
Philippe. 

“ He  wished  to  seek  intelligence  from  me  — ” She  again 
stopped ; one  would  have  said  that  she  was  afraid  of  break- 
ing the  count's  heart. 

“ Go  on,  sister,  go  on.” 

“ Of  a person  who  had  escaped  from  his  house,  and  — ” 
Andree  lowered  her  voice,  — “ and  who  has  since  died.” 
Softly  as  Andree  had  pronounced  these  words  Balsamo 
heard  or  divined  them,  for  he  uttered  a deep  groan. 
Philippe  stopped  ; there  was  a moment’s  silence. 

“ Continue,  continue,”  said  Balsamo ; “ your  brother 
wishes  to  know  everything,  Mademoiselle  ; your  brother 
must  know  all.  After  this  man  had  received  the  informa- 
tion he  desired,  what  did  he  do  1 ” 

“ He  fled,”  said  Andree. 

“ Leaving  you  in  the  garden  ? ” asked  Philippe. 

“ Yes.” 

“ What  did  you  do  then  ? ” 

“As  he  retreated  from  me,  since  the  strength  which  sus 
tained  me  went  with  him,  I fell.” 


438 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ In  a swoon  ? ” 

“ No  ; still  a sleep,  but  a leaden  sleep.” 

“ Can  you  remember  what  happened  to  you  during  that 
sleep  ? ” 

“ I will  try.” 

“ Well,  what  happened  ? Speak  ! ” 
u A man  came  out  from  a thicket,  took  me  in  his  arms, 
and  carried  me  — ” 

“ Where  ? 99 

“ Here  into  my  chamber.” 

“ Ah  ! — and  this  man,  do  you  see  him  ? ” 

“ Stay  — yes  — yes  — Oh  ! ” continued  Andrde,  -with 
an  expression  of  disgust  and  uneasiness ; “ oh;  it  is  again 
that  little  Gilbert ! ” 

“ Gilbert  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ What  did  he  do  ? ” 

“ He  put  me  down  on  the  sofa.” 

“ Afterward  1 ” 

" Wait.” 

“ See  ! see  ! 99  said  Balsamo  ; “ I will  that  you  see.” 

“ He  listens ; he  goes  into  the  other  chamber ; he  draws 
back  as  if  in  fear ; he  enters  Nicole’s  cabinet — My  God  ! 
my  God  ! ” 

“ What?” 

“A  man  follows  him  ; and  I,  — I,  who  cannot  rise,  de- 
fend myself,  or  cry  out ; I,  who  sleep  — ” 

“ Who  is  this  man  ? ” 

“ Brother,  brother ! 99  and  Andree’s  countenance  ex- 
pressed the  profoundest  grief. 

“ Tell  who  this  man  is,”  commanded  Balsamo ; “ I will 
it!” 

“ The  king ! 99  murmured  Andree ; “ it  is  the  king ! 99 
Philippe  shuddered. 


THE  REVELATION. 


439 


“ Ah  ! ” muttered  Balsamo,  “ I suspected  it  .” 

“ He  approaches  me,”  continued  Andree ; “ he  speaks  to 
me,  he  takes  me  in  his  arms,  he  kisses  me.  Oh,  brother, 
brother  ! ” 

Great  tears  came  into  Philippe’s  eyes,  while  his  hand 
grasped  the  handle  of  the  sword  given  him  by  Balsamo. 

“ Speak  ! speak  ! ” continued  the  count,  in  a tone  more 
and  more  imperative. 

“ Oh,  what  happiness ! he  is  perplexed  ; he  stops  ; he 
looks  at  me  ; he  is  afraid  ; he  flies  ; An  dree  is  saved  ! ” 

Philippe  drank  in,  breathless,  every  word  that  issued 
from  Andree’s  lips.  “ Saved  ! Andree  is  saved  ! ” he  re- 
peated mechanically. 

“ Wait,  brother,  wait  ! ” and  the  young  girl  sought  the 
arm  of  her  brother  as  if  to  support  herself. 

“ Afterward  ? ” asked  Philippe. 

“ I had  forgotten.” 

“ What  ? ” 

“ There,  there,  in  Nicole’s  cabinet,  a knife  in  his 
hand  — ” 

“ A knife  in  his  hand  ? ” 

“ I see  him  ; he  is  pale  as  death.” 

“Who?” 

“ Gilbert.” 

Philippe  held  his  breath. 

“ He  follows  the  king,”  continued  Andree;  “he  closes 
the  door  after  him;  he  puts  his  foot  upon  the  candle 
which  is  burning  the  carpet ; he  comes  toward  me.  Oh  ! ” 
The  young  girl  raised  herself  in  the  arms  of  her  brother 
Every  muscle  in  her  body  grew  stiff,  almost  to  breaking. 

“ Oh,  the  villain  ! ” said  she,  at  last ; and  she  fell  back 
powerless. 

“ My  God  ! ” said  Philippe,  not  daring  to  interrupt  her. 

“ It  is  he  ; it  is  he  ! ” murmured  the  young  girl.  Then 


440 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


raising  herself  up  to  speak  in  her  brother’s  ear,  with  flash- 
ing eye  and  trembling  voice,  “ You  will  kill  him,  will  you 
not,  Philippe  1 v 

“ Oh,  yes ! ” cried  the  young  man,  jumping  up,  and 
upsetting  a small  table  behind  him  covered  with  china. 
The  china  was  broken  into  pieces.  With  the  noise  of  this 
fall  was  mingled  a dull  sound  and  a sudden  shaking  of 
the  partitions ; then  a cry  from  Andree,  which  was  heard 
above  all. 

“ What  is  that  1 ” said  Balsamo.  “ A door  was  opened.” 

“Was  any  one  listening  1 ” cried  Philippe,  grasping  his 
sword. 

“ It  was  he,”  said  Andree,  — “ it  was  he  again.” 

“ But  who  is  he  1 ” 

“ Gilbert,  Gilbert,  still ! Ah,  you  will  kill  him,  Phi- 
lippe, you  will  kill  him  ? ” 

“ Oh,  yes,  yes,  yes  ! ” cried  the  young  man ; and  he 
rushed  to  the  antechamber  sword  in  hand,  while  Andree 
fell  back  on  the  sofa.  Balsamo  rushed  after  the  young 
man,  and  held  him  by  the  arm. 

“ Take  care,  Monsieur  ! ” said  he,  “ that  which  is  secret 
would  become  public ; it  is  daylight,  and  the  echo  of  royal 
houses  is  loud.” 

“Oh,  Gilbert,  Gilbert!”  murmured  Philippe;  “and  he 
was  hidden  there.  He  heard  us ; I could  kill  him.  Oh, 
the  accursed  villain  ! ” 

“Yes,  but  silence  ! You  can  find  this  young  man  an- 
other time;  your  sister  needs  you  now,  Monsieur.  You 
see  she  begins  to  be  fatigued  by  so  much  emotion.” 

“ Oh,  yes  ; I understand  her  suffering  by  my  own  ; this 
misfortune  is  so  terrible,  so  irreparable ! Oh,  Monsieur, 
Monsieur,  it  will  kill  me  ! ” 

“ On  the  contrary,  you  will  live  for  her,  Chevalier ; for 
she  needs  you,  having  only  you.  Love  her,  pity  her,  take 


THE  REVELATION. 


441 


care  of  her  ! And  now,”  continued  he,  after  a momenta 
silence,  “ have  you  further  need  of  me  1 ” 

u No,  Monsieur.  Pardon  me  my  suspicions,  my  insults  ; 
and  yet  all  the  injury  comes  from  you,  Monsieur.” 

“ I do  not  excuse  myself,  Chevalier ; but  do  you  forget 
what  your  sister  said  h ” 

66  What  did  she  say  ] My  mind  wanders.” 

“ If  I had  not  come,  she  would  have  taken  the  draught 
prepared  by  Nicole,  and  then  it  would  have  been  the  king. 
Would  the  misfortune  have  been  less  ? ” 

“ No,  Monsieur,  it  would  have  been  still  the  same;  and 
I see  clearly  that  we  were  doomed.  Awake  my  sister, 
Monsieur.” 

“ But  she  will  see  me ; she  will,  perhaps,  understand 
what  has  been  going  on.  It  is  better  that  I awake  her, 
as  I put  her  to  sleep,  — at  a distance.” 

“ Thanks,  thanks  ! ” 

“ Then,  adieu,  Monsieur.” 

“ One  word  more,  Count.  You  are  a man  of  honor  1” 

“ Oh,  the  secret  you  mean  1 ” 

“ Count  — ” 

“ A needless  charge,  Monsieur ; in  the  first  place,  be- 
cause I am  a man  of  honor ; then,  having  decided  to  have 
nothing  more  to  do  with  men,  I shall  forget  men  and  their 
secrets.  At  all  times  call  upon  me,  if  I can  be  of  use  to 
you.  But,  no,  no,  I am  no  longer  good  for  anything ; I 
am  of  no  more  use  upon  the  earth.  Adieu,  Monsieur, 
adieu  ! ” and  bowing  to  Philippe,  Balsamo  looked  once 
more  at  Andree,  whose  head  was  leaning  back  with  every 
appearance  of  grief  and  lassitude.  “ 0 Science  ! ” he  mur- 
mured, “ how  many  victims  for  a result  without  value  ! ” 
and  he  disappeared. 

As  he  retreated  Andree  revived.  She  raised  her  head, 
heavy  as  if  it  had  been  made  of  lead,  and  looking  at  her 


442 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


brother  with  wondering  eyes,  “ Oh,  Philippe  ! ” she  mur- 
mured, “ what  has  happened  1 ” 

Philippe  restrained  the  sob  which  was  choking  him,  and 
smiling  heroically,  “ Nothing,  sister  ! ” said  he. 

“ And  yet  I seem  to  have  been  mad,  and  to  have 
dreamed.” 

“ Dreamed  1 and  what  have  you  dreamed,  my  dear  and 
good  Andree  ? ” 

“ Oh,  Doctor  Louis,  Doctor  Louis,  brother  ! ” 

“ Andree,”  cried  Philippe,  pressing  her  hand,  “ Andree, 
you  are  pure  as  the  light  of  day ; but  everything  accuses 
you,  everything  is  against  you.  A terrible  secret  is  im- 
posed upon  us  two.  I will  go  and  find  Doctor  Louis,  and 
ask  him  to  say  to  Madame  la  Dauphine  that  you  are  at- 
tacked by  an  unconquerable  homesickness,  which  a stay 
at  Taverney  alone  can  cure;  and  then  we  will  depart 
either  for  Taverney  or  for  some  other  part  of  the  world. 
Then  both,  in  seclusion  there,  loving,  consoling  each 
other  — ” 

“ Yet,  brother,”  said  Andree,  “ if  I am  as  pure  as  you 
say  — ” 

“ Dear  Andree,  I will  explain  it  all  to  you ; meantime, 
prepare  for  departure.” 

“ But  my  father  1 ” 

“ Father,”  said  Philippe,  with  a serious  air,  “father, — 
that  is  my  concern ; I will  prepare  him.” 

“ He  will  accompany  us,  then  ] ” 

“ Father  ] oh,  impossible,  impossible  ! We  two,  Andrfee, 
— we  two  alone,  I say.” 

“ Oh,  how  you  frighten  me,  dear  ! how  you  alarm  me, 
brother ! how  I suffer,  Philippe  ! ” 

“ God  is  everywhere,  Andree,”  said  the  young  man ; 
“ courage,  then  ! I will  seek  the  doctor.  What  makes  you 
ill,  Andree,  is  sorrow  at  leaving  Taverney,  — sorrow  which 


THE  REVELATION. 


443 


you  conceal  for  the  sake  of  Madame  la  Dauphine.  Come, 
come,  be  brave,  sister,  the  honor  of  both  of  us  is  at  stake  ! ” 
and  Philippe  embraced  his  sister  hastily,  for  he  was  chok- 
ing with  emotion.  Then  he  picked  up  his  sword,  which 
he  had  dropped,  sheathed  it  with  trembling  hand,  and 
rushed  out  on  to  the  stairs.  A quarter  of  an  hour  after 
he  knocked  at  Doctor  Louis’s  door,  who,  while  the  court 
was  at  Trianon,  lived  at  Versailles. 


444 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

THE  LITTLE  GARDEN  OF  DOCTOR  LOUIS. 

Doctor  Louis,  at  whose  door  we  have  left  Philippe,  was 
walking  in  a little  garden  surrounded  by  four  high  walls, 
which  formed  a part  of  the  dependencies  of  an  old  Ursu- 
line  convent,  and  had  been  converted  into  a storehouse  for 
Messieurs  the  dragoons  of  the  king’s  household. 

Doctor  Louis  read,  while  walking,  the  proofs  of  a new 
work  he  was  about  to  have  printed,  and  stooped  from  time 
to  time  to  pull  from  the  path  in  which  he  was  walking,  or 
from  the  parterre  on  either  side,  the  weeds  which  offended 
his  instinct  of  symmetry  and  order.  A single  servant, 
rather  surly,  like  every  domestic  of  an  industrious  man 
who  does  not  like  to  be  disturbed,  took  the  whole  care  of 
the  doctor’s  house.  In  answer  to  Philippe’s  resounding 
knock,  she  approached  the  door  and  half  opened  it.  But 
the  young  man,  instead  of  parleying  with  the  servant, 
pushed  the  door  open  and  went  in.  Once  master  of  the 
passage  ho  saw  the  garden  and  in  it  the  doctor.  Then, 
without  paying  any  attention  to  the  speeches  and  outcries 
of  the  vigilant  guardian,  he  rushed  into  the  garden.  At 
the  sound  of  his  steps  the  doctor  looked  up.  “ Ah,  ah  ! ” 
he  said,  “ is  it  you  ? ” 

“ Pardon  me,  Doctor,  for  having  forced  your  door  and 
disturbed  your  solitude ; but  the  moment  you  had  foreseen 
has  arrived  ; I need  you,  and  I come  to  implore  your 
assistance.” 


THE  LITTLE  GARDEN  OF  DOCTOR  LOUIS.  445 


“ I have  promised  you,  Monsieur/'  said  the  doctor ; “ and 
I promise  it  now.” 

Philippe  bowed,  too  much  affected  to  begin  the  conver- 
sation himself.  Doctor  Louis  understood  his  hesitation. 
“ How  is  the  invalid  1 ” he  asked,  anxious  on  account  of 
Philippe's  paleness,  and  fearing  some  catastrophe  as  a crisis 
of  this  drama. 

“ Very  well,  thank  God,  Doctor;  and  my  sister  is  so 
worthy  and  so  honest  a girl  that  really  God  would  not  be 
just  to  send  her  suffering  and  danger." 

The  doctor  looked  at  Philippe  as  if  to  question  him ; his 
words  seemed  to  him  a continuation  of  the  denials  of  the 
evening  before. 

“Then,"  said  he,  “ she  was  the  victim  of  some  surprise, 
or  some  plot." 

“ Yes,  Doctor,  victim  of  an  unheard  of  surprise,  — vic- 
tim of  an  infamous  plot." 

The  doctor  clasped  his  hands,  and  lifted  his  eyes  toward 
heaven.  “ Alas  ! " said  he,  “ we  live,  in  this  respect,  in 
horrible  times  ; and  I think  there  is  pressing  need  of  phy- 
sicians of  nations,  as  there  have  been  so  long  physicians 
of  individuals." 

“Yes,"  said  Philippe,  “ yes,  let  them  come  ; no  one  will 
be  more  glad  to  see  them  than  I ; meanwhile  — " And 
Philippe  made  a threatening  gesture. 

“ Ah  ! " said  the  doctor,  “you  are,  I see,  Monsieur,  one 
of  those  who  make  the  reparation  of  crime  consist  in  vio- 
lence and  murder." 

“Yes,  Doctor,"  Philippe  calmly  replied,  “yes,  I am  one 
of  those." 

“ A duel,"  sighed  the  doctor,  — “a  duel,  which  will  not 
restore  your  sister's  honor,  even  if  you  kill  the  criminal, 
and  which  will  plunge  her  in  despair  if  you  are  killed. 
Ah,  Monsieur,  I thought  that  you  had  a sound  mind  and 


446 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


an  intelligent  heart ; I thought  I had  heard  you  express 
the  desire  that  everything  relating  to  this  affair  should  be 
kept  secret/ * 

Philippe  laid  his  hand  upon  the  doctor’s  arm.  “ Mon- 
sieur,” said  he,  “ you  are  strangely  mistaken  in  me  ; I 
have  a steadfast  purpose  which  springs  from  deep  convic- 
tion and  a clear  conscience.  I wish  to  do  justly,  not  to  do 
myself  justice ; I wish,  not  to  expose  my  sister  to  aban- 
donment and  death  by  getting  myself  killed,  but  to  avenge 
her  by  killing  the  scoundrel.” 

“ You  will  kill  him,  — you,  a gentleman  ? You  will  com- 
mit a murder?” 

“ Monsieur,  if  I had  seen  him  ten  minutes  before  the 
crime,  stealing  like  a thief  into  that  chamber,  into  which, 
on  account  of  his  low  station,  he  had  no  right  to  put  his 
foot,  and  had  then  killed  him,  every  one  would  have  said 
that  I had  done  well ; why,  then,  should  I spare  him 
now  ? Has  crime  made  him  sacred  ? ” 

“So  this  bitter  purpose  is  determined  upon  in  your 
mind,  fixed  in  your  heart  ? ” 

“ Fixed,  determined  upon ! I shall  find  him  some 
time,  however  carefully  he  hides  ; and  then,  I tell  you, 
Monsieur,  without  pity,  without  remorse,  I will  kill  him 
like  a dog  ! ” 

“Then,”  said  Doctor  Louis,  “you  will  commit  a crime 
equal  to  his,  — a more  odious  crime,  perhaps  ; for  one  never 
knows  whether  an  imprudent  word,  or  the  coquettish  look 
of  a woman  may  not  have  urged  on  the  desire  and  lust  of 
the  man.  Kill  him ! when  you  have  other  reparation,  — 
when  a marriage  — ” 

Philippe  looked  up.  “ Are  you  unaware,  Monsieur, 
that  the  family  of  Taverney-Maison -Rouge  dates  from  the 
Crusades,  and  that  my  sister  is  as  noble  as  an  infanta  or 
an  archduchess  ? ” 


THE  LITTLE  GARDEN  OF  DOCTOR  LOUIS.  447 


“ Yes,  I understand ; and  the  culprit,  he  is  not ; he 
is  a wretch,  a clodhopper,  as  you  high-bred  men  say. 
Yes,  yes,”  he  continued,  with  a hitter  smile,  “ yes,  it  is 
true ; God  has  made  men  of  a certain  inferior  clay  to  be 
killed  by  other  men  of  finer  clay ; oh,  yes ! you  are  right, 
— kill,  Monsieur,  kill ! ” And  the  doctor  turned  his  back 
on  Philippe  and  began  to  pull  up  here  and  there  the  weeds 
in  his  garden. 

Philippe  folded  his  arms.  “ Doctor,  listen  to  me,”  he 
said  ; “ it  is  not  a question  of  a seducer  to  whom  a coquette 
has  given  more  or  less  encouragement ; it  is  not  a question 
of  a man  provoked,  as  you  say,  — we  speak  of  a miserable 
fellow  brought  up  by  us,  and  who,  after  having  eaten  the 
bread  of  pity,  in  the  night,  taking  advantage  of  an  artificial 
sleep,  of  a swoon,  of  death,  so  to  speak,  has  basely  and 
treacherously  profaned  the  holiest  and  purest  of  women, 
whom  in  the  light  of  day  he  did  not  dare  look  in  the  face. 
Before  a tribunal  this  guilty  man  would  certainly  be 
doomed  to  death ; well,  I will  judge  him  as  impartially  as 
a tribunal,  and  I will  kill  him.  Now,  Doctor,  will  you, 
whom  I have  thought  so  generous  and  so  noble,  — will 
you  make  me  purchase  this  service,  or  impose  on  me  a 
condition  ] In  rendering  it  to  me,  will  you  do  like  those 
who  seek  to  oblige,  and  to  satisfy  themselves  at  the  same 
time ! If  it  is  so,  Doctor,  you  are  not  that  wise  man  I 
have  admired ; you  are  only  an  ordinary  man,  and  in  spite 
of  the  disdain  which  you  showed  me  just  now,  I am  supe- 
rior to  you,  — I,  who  have  confided  to  you,  without  reser- 
vation, my  whole  secret.” 

“ You  say,”  replied  the  doctor,  thoughtfully,  “ that  the 
guilty  man  has  fled  1 ” 

“ Yes,  Doctor ; no  doubt  he  foresaw  that  the  affair 
would  become  known  ; he  heard  that  he  was  accused,  and 
immediately  took  flight.” 


448 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“Good!  Now  what  do  you  desire,  Monsieur,”  asked 
the  doctor. 

“Your  assistance  in  removing  my  sister  from  Versailles, 
to  bury  in  a thicker  and  more  silent  darkness  the  terri- 
ble secret  that  would  dishonor  us  if  it  should  become 
known.” 

“ I will  ask  you  but  one  question.” 

Philippe  was  indignant. 

“ Listen  to  me,”  continued  the  doctor,  with  a gesture 
which  commanded  calmness.  “ A Christian  philosopher,  of 
whom  you  have  just  made  a confessor,  is  obliged  to  im- 
pose upon  you  a condition,  not  with  reference  to  the  ser- 
vice rendered,  but  in  pursuance  of  the  law  of  conscience. 
Humanity  is  a duty,  Monsieur,  not  a virtue.  You  speak 
to  me  of  killing  a man ; I must  prevent  it,  as  I would 
have  prevented  by  all  the  means  in  my  power,  by  violence 
even,  the  accomplishment  of  the  crime  committed  upon 
your  sister.  Therefore,  Monsieur,  I adjure  you,  make  me 
an  oath.” 

“ Oh,  never ! never  ! ” 

“ You  will  do  it,”  cried  Doctor  Louis,  vehemently,  — 
“ you  will  do  it,  man  of  blood  ; recognize  everywhere  the 
hand  of  God,  and  do  not  assume  to  direct  its  stroke.  The 
culprit,  you  say,  was  within  your  reach  ] ” 

“ Yes,  Doctor ; by  opening  a door,  if  I could  have  divined 
that  he  was  there,  I should  have  been  face  to  face  with 
him.” 

“ Well,  he  has  fled,  he  trembles,  his  punishment  has 
begun.  Ah,  you  smile ; what  God  does  appears  to  you 
feeble  ! remorse  seems  insufficient ! Wait,  wait,  then  ! 
You  will  stay  with  your  sister,  and  you  will  promise  me 
never  to  pursue  the  criminal.  If  you  meet  him,  that  is,  if 
God  delivers  hiln  up  to  you  — well,  I am  also  a man  ! — 
in  that  case  you  will  see  ! ” 


THE  LITTLE  GARDEN  OF  DOCTOR  LOUIS.  449 


“Nonsense,  Monsieur;  will  he  not  always  fly  from 
meJ” 

“ Who  knows  ? The  assassin  flies,  the  assassin  seeks 
refuge,  the  assassin  fears  the  scaffold  ; and  yet  as  if  he  were 
magnetized,  the  sword  of  justice  draws  this  criminal  to 
itself,  and  he  finally  falls  under  the  hand  of  the  execu- 
tioner. Besides,  it  is  a question  now  of  giving  up  all  that 
you  have  undertaken  so  painfully  to  do  ] It  is  for  the 
world  in  which  you  live  and  to  whom  you  cannot  explain 
the  innocence  of  your  sister,  it  is  for  all  these  curious 
idlers  that  you  kill  a man  ; and  you  would  feed  their  curi- 
osity twice,  — by  the  avowal  of  the  attempt  in  the  first 
place,  afterward  by  the  scandal  of  the  punishment.  No, 
no,  believe  me  ; keep  silence,  bury  this  misfortune.” 

“Oh,  who  will  know  when  I shall  have  killed  this 
villain,  that  it  was  on  my  sister’s  account  h ” 

“ You  would  have  to  give  a reason  for  this  murder.” 
“Well,  Doctor,  I will  obey  ; I will  not  pursue  the  crim- 
inal. But  God  will  be  just ; oh,  yes  ! God  uses  impunity 
as  a bait ; God  will  again  show  me  the  criminal.” 

“ In  that  case  it  will  be  God  who  has  condemned  him. 
Give  me  your  hand,  Monsieur.” 

“ There  it  is.” 

“ What  must  I do  for  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  1 Tell 
me. 

“ You  must,  dear  Doctor,  find  a pretext  with  Madame  la 
Dauphine  for  taking  her  away  for  a time,  — longing  for  the 
country,  fresh  air  — ” 

“ That  is  easy.” 

“ Yes  ; that  is  your  affair,  and  I rely  upon  yon.  I will 
then  take  my  sister  to  some  corner  of  France,  Taverney 
for  example,  far  from  all  eyes,  from  all  suspicion.” 

“ No,  no,  Monsieur,  that  would  be  impossible.  The  poor 
child  needs  constant  care  and  solace ; she  will  need  all  the 
VOL.  in.  — 29 


450 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


aid  of  science.  Let  me  then  find  for  her  near  here,  in  a 
village  I know  of,  a retreat  a hundred  times  more  secluded, 
a hundred  times  more  safe  than  the  wild  country  into 
which  you  would  take  her.” 

“ Oh,  Doctor,  you  think  so  1 ” 

“ Yes,  I have  reason  to  think  so.  Suspicion  always 
moves  from  the  centre  outward  like  those  circles  caused 
by  a stone  thrown  into  the  water ; the  stone  however  does 
not  move,  and  when  the  undulations  are  obliterated  no 
one  sees  the  cause  of  them,  buried  as  it  is  under  the  depths 
of  the  water.” 

“Then,  Doctor,  go  to  work.” 

“ From  to-day,  Monsieur  1 ” 

“Apprise  Madame  la  Dauphine.” 

“ This  very  morning.” 

" And  for  the  rest  1 ” 

“ In  twenty-four  hours,  you  shall  have  my  answer.” 

“ Oh,  thanks,  Doctor ; you  are  for  me  a god ! ” 

“Well,  young  man,  now  that  everything  is  arranged 
between  us,  accomplish  your  mission  ; return  to  your  sister, 
console  her,  protect  her.” 

“ Adieu,  Doctor,  adieu  ! ” 

The  doctor,  after  having  watched  Philippe  until  he  was 
out  of  sight,  returned  to  his  walk,  his  proofs,  and  the 
weeding  of  his  little  garden. 


FATHER  AND  SON. 


451 


CHAPTER  L. 

FATHER  AND  SON. 

When  Philippe  returned  to  his  sister  he  found  her  very 
much  agitated,  very  uneasy.  a My  dear,”  said  she,  “ I 
have  been  thinking  while  you  were  away  of  all  that  has 
happened  to  me  for  some  time  past.  It  is  an  abyss  which 
will  swallow  up  the  little  reason  that  remains  to  me. 
Well,  you  have  seen  Doctor  Louis  ! ” 

“ I have  just  been  to  his  house,  Andree.” 

“That  man  has  brought  a terrible  accusation  against 
me  ; is  it  just  ! ” 

“ He  was  not  mistaken,  sister.” 

Andree  grew  pale,  and  her  small  and  delicate  hands  con- 
tracted nervously. 

“ The  name,”  said  she,  then,  — “ the  name  of  the  wretch 
who  ruined  me!” 

“ My  sister,  you  must  remain  ignorant  of  it  forever.” 

“ Oh,  Philippe,  you  do  not  speak  the  truth  ; Philippe, 
you  are  false  to  your  own  conscience.  This  name,  I must 
know  it ; so  that  feeble  as  I am,  and  having  nothing  for 
myself  but  prayer,  I may  by  prayer  direct  against  the 
criminal  all  the  anger  of  God.  The  name  of  this  man, 
Philippe ! ” 

“ Let  us  never  speak  of  it,  sister.” 

Andree  seized  his  hand,  and  looked  him  in  the  face. 
“ Oh  ! ” said  she,  “ this  is  what  you  reply  to  me,  — you 
who  have  a sword  by  your  side  ! ” 

Philippe  grew  pale  at  this  exhibition  of  anger,  and  re- 
straining his  own  fury,  “ Andree,”  he  said,  “ I cannot  tell 


452 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


you  what  I do  not  know  myself.  Secrecy  is  ordered  me 
by  the  destiny  which  overwhelms  us  ; this  secret,  exposure 
of  which  would  compromise  the  honor  of  our  family,  a last 
favor  of  God  renders  inviolable  to  all.” 

“ Except  for  one  man,  Philippe, — for  a man  who  laughs, 
for  a man  who  defies  us  ! — oh,  my  God  ! for  a man  who 
laughs  infernally  at  us,  perhaps,  in  his  dark  retreat.” 
Philippe  wrung  his  hands,  looked  upward,  and  answered 
nothing. 

“ This  man,”  cried  Andree,  with  increasing  anger  and 
indignation,  “ I know  him,  perhaps,  — in  short,  Philippe, 
permit  me  to  present  him  to  you.  I have  already  de- 
scribed his  strange  influence  over  me ; I think  I sent  you 
to  him  — ” 

“ That  man  is  innocent ; I have  seen  him ; I have  proof* 
So  do  not  seek  farther,  Andree,  seek  no  farther.” 

“ Philippe,  let  us  ascend  a little  higher  than  this  man, 
will  you  ? Let  us  go  to  the  first  ranks  of  the  powerful  men 
of  this  kingdom.  Let  us  go  even  to  the  king  ! ” 

Philippe  encircled  with  his  arms  this  poor  child,  sub- 
lime in  her  ignorance  and  in  her  indignation,  “ There,”  he 
said,  “all  those  whom  you  have  mentioned  while  awake, 
you  have  named  in  your  sleep ; all  these  whom  you  accuse 
with  the  ferocity  of  virtue  you  have  vindicated  in  your 
magnetic  sleep,  when  you  saw,  so  to  speak,  the  crime 
committed.” 

“ Did  I name  the  guilty  one  'l  ” she  said,  with  flashing 

eyes. 

“No,”  Philippe  replied,  “no.  Ask  no  more,  follow 
my  example,  — submit  to  destiny.  The  misfortune  is 
irreparable  ; it  is  doubled  for  you  by  the  impunity  of  the 
criminal ; but  hope,  hope  ! God  is  above  all ; God  reserves 
for  those  who  are  oppressed  a savage  joy  which  is  called 
vengeance.” 


FATHER  AND  SON. 


453 


“ Vengeance  !”  she  murmured,  frightened  at  the  terri- 
ble emphasis  with  which  Philippe  pronounced  this  word. 

“ Meantime  rest,  sister,  from  all  the  troubles,  all  the 
shame,  which  my  mad  curiosity  has  caused  you.  If  I had 
known  ! oh,  if  I had  known  ! ” And  he  hid  his  face  in  his 
hands  in  fearful  despair.  Then  suddenly  looking  up,  “ What 
have  I to  complain  of]”  said  he,  with  a smile.  “ My  sister 
is  pure,  she  loves  me ; she  has  never  betrayed  confidence 
nor  friendship.  My  sister  is  young  like  myself,  kind  like 
myself;  we  will  live  together,  we  will  grow  old  together. 
Together  we  shall  be  stronger  than  the  whole  world  ! ” 

In  proportion  as  the  young  man  spoke  in  a manner 
to  console  Andree,  she  became  gloomy;  she  bent  down 
her  pale  face ; she  took  the  attitude  and  settled  look  of 
dull  despair,  which  Philippe  had  just  shaken  off  so  cour- 
ageously. “ You  never  speak  but  of  us  two  ! 99  she  said, 
looking  steadily,  with  her  searching  blue  eyes  upon  her 
brother’s  changing  countenance. 

“ Of  whom  would  you  have  me  speak,  Andree  ] ” said 
the  young  man,  meeting  her  look. 

“ But  — we  have  a father ; how  will  he  treat  his 
daughter  ] ” 

“ I told  you  yesterday,”  Philippe  coldly  replied,  “ to 
forget  all  trouble,  all  fear,  — to  dismiss,  as  the  wind  dis- 
pels the  morning  mist,  every  memory  and  every  affection 
except  mine.  Indeed,  my  dear  Andree,  nobody  in  the 
world  loves  you  but  myself;  I am  loved  only  by  you. 
Poor  abandoned  orphans,  why  should  we  bear  the  yoke  of 
gratitude  or  relationship]  Have  we  received  kindness] 
Have  we  enjoyed  the  protection  of  a father]  Oh  ! ” he 
added,  with  a bitter  smile,  “ you  know  my  very  thoughts, 
you  know  the  state  of  my  heart.  If  you  must  love  him 
you  speak  of,  I will  say,  6 Love  him ! ’ I am  silent 
Andree,  forbear.” 


454 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Then,  brother,  I must  believe  — ” 

“ Sister,  in  great  misfortunes  man  involuntarily  hears 
those  words  so  little  understood  in  childhood,  * Fear 
God ! } Oh,  yes ! God  has  cruelly  recalled  it  to  our 
memory  ! ‘ Eespect  thy  father  * — Oh,  my  sister,  the 

strongest  proof  of  respect  you  could  give  your  father 
would  be  to  blot  him  from  your  memory.” 

“ It  is  true  — ” murmured  Andree,  gloomily,  leaning 
back  in  her  chair. 

“ My  dear,  let  us  not  waste  time  in  useless  words.  Col- 
lect all  your  effects ; Doctor  Louis  will  see  Madame  la 
Dauphine,  and  inform  her  of  your  departure.  The  causes 
he  will  allege,  you  know,  — the  need  of  change  of  air,  un- 
accountable suffering.  Be  all  ready,  I say,  for  departure.” 
Andree  arose.  “ The  furniture  ? ” she  said. 

“ Oh,  no,  — linen,  clothes,  jewels.” 

Andree  obeyed.  She  set  in  order  in  the  first  place  the 
boxes  from  the  closet,  the  clothes  from  the  wardrobe 
where  Gilbert  had  hidden ; then  she  took  some  jewel- 
eases  which  she  was  about  to  put  in  the  principal  box. 

“ What  is  that  1 ” said  Philippe. 

“ It  is  the  casket  of  jewels  sent  me  by  the  king,  for  my 
representation  at  Trianon.” 

Philippe  turned  pale  on  seeing  the  richness  of  the  present. 
“With  only  these  jewels,”  said  Andree,  “we  can  live 
respectably  anywhere.  I have  heard  that  the  pearls  alone 
are  worth  one  hundred  thousand  francs.” 

Philippe  closed  the  casket.  “ They  are  indeed  very 
valuable,”  he  said.  And  taking  the  casket  from  Andree’s 
hands,  “ I think  there  are  some  other  jewels,  sister.” 

“Oh,  my  dear,  they  are  not  worthy  to  be  compared 
with  these ; they  adorned,  however,  the  toilet  of  our 
mother  fifteen  years  ago.  The  watch,  the  bracelets,  the 
earrings,  are  enriched  with  brilliants.  There  is  also  the 


FATHER  AND  SON. 


455 


portrait.  Father  wished  to  sell  them  all,  because,  he  said, 
they  were  no  longer  fashionable/ 1 

“ This  is,  however,  all  that  remains  to  us,”  said  Phi- 
lippe, “ our  only  resource.  My  sister,  we  will  melt  the 
gold  articles  ; we  will  sell  the  jewels  of  the  portrait.  We 
shall  thus  have  twenty  thousand  francs,  which  is  a suffi- 
cient sum  for  the  unhappy.” 

“ But  — this  case  of  pearls  is  mine,”  said  Andree. 

“ Never  touch  those  pearls,  Andree ; they  will  burn  you. 
Each  one  of  these  pearls  is  of  a strange  nature,  sister ; they 
stain  the  foreheads  which  they  touch.” 

Andree  shuddered. 

“ I will  keep  this  case,  sister,  to  return  it  to  whom  it 
belongs.  I tell  you  it  is  not  our  property,  and  we  have 
no  wish  to  claim  it,  have  we  ? ” 

“As  you  please,  brother,”  Andree  replied,  with  a shud- 
der of  shame. 

“ Dear  sister,  dress  yourself  for  the  last  time  to  go  to 
see  Madame  la  Dauphine ; be  very  calm,  very  respectful, 
and  much  affected  at  leaving  so  noble  a protectress.” 

“ Oh,  yes  ! much  affected,”  murmured  Andree,  with 
emotion ; “ it  is  a great  grief  in  my  misfortune.” 

“I  am  going  to  Paris,  sister,  and  I will  return  to- 
night ; as  soon  as  I arrive  I will  take  you  away.  Pay  all 
that  you  owe  here.” 

“Nothing,  nothing;  I had  Nicole,  she  has  fled,  — ah, 
I forgot  the  little  Gilbert.” 

Philippe  started,  his  eyes  kindled.  “ You  owe  Gilbert  ? ” 
he  cried. 

“ Yes,”  said  Andree,  naturally,  “ he  has  furnished  me 
with  flowers  through  the  season.  But,  as  you  told  me 
yourself,  I have  been  at  times  unjust  and  harsh  toward 
this  fellow,  who  was  after  all  polite.  I will  recompense 
him  differently.” 


456 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Do  not  seek  Gilbert,”  said  Philippe. 

“ Why  not  ? He  must  be  in  the  garden  ; I will  send  for 
him  then.” 

“ No,  no  ; you  will  lose  precious  time.  I,  on  the  con- 
trary, shall  meet  him ; I will  speak  to  him ; I will  pay 
him.” 

“Very  well,  then,  that  will  do.” 

“ Yes,  adieu  until  this  evening ; ” and  he  kissed  the 
hand  of  the  young  girl,  who  threw  herself  into  his  arms. 
He  restrained  even  the  beating  of  his  heart  in  this  gentle 
embrace. 

Without  delay  Philippe  departed  for  Paris,  where  the 
carriage  set  him  down  before  the  door  of  the  little  hotel 
in  the  Rue  Coq-Heron.  Philippe  knew  that  he  should 
find  his  father  there.  The  old  man,  since  his  strange 
rupture  with  Richelieu,  had  not  found  life  tolerable  at 
Versailles,  and  he  sought,  like  all  minds  of  exuberant 
activity,  to  beguile  mental  torpor  by  the  excitement  of 
change  of  place. 

Now  the  baron,  when  Philippe  rang  at  the  gate  of  the 
court-yard,  was  pacing,  with  terrible  oaths,  the  little  gar- 
den of  the  hotel  and  the  court  adjoining  it.  He  started 
at  the  sound  of  the  bell,  and  answered  it  himself.  As  he 
expected  no  one,  this  unforeseen  visit  gave  him  hope  ; the 
unhappy  man  in  his  fall  caught  at  every  branch.  He 
therefore  received  Philippe  with  a feeling  of  spite  and 
vague  curiosity.  But  he  had  no  sooner  glanced  at  the 
face  of  his  visitor  than  that  dull  pallor,  those  rigid  lines, 
and  that  contracted  mouth  froze  the  reservoir  of  questions 
which  he  was  prepared  to  open. 

“ You  h ” he  said  only,  “ and  by  what  chance  ? ” 

“ I shall  have  the  honor  of  explaining  to  you,  Monsieur,” 
said  Philippe. 

“ Good  ! is  it  serious  1 ” 


FATHER  AND  SON. 


457 


“Very  serious  ; yes,  Monsieur.” 

“ This  boy  always  has  ceremonious  ways  that  disturb 
me.  Is  it  a misfortune,  or  is  it  good  fortune,  which  you 
bring  ] ” 

“It  is  a misfortune ! ” Philippe  said  gravely.  The 
baron  staggered.  “ We  are  quite  alone  1 ” asked  Philippe. 

“ Why,  yes.” 

“ Would  you  like  to  go  into  the  house,  Monsieur  h 99 

“ Why  not  in  the  open  air  under  these  trees  ] ” 

“ Because  there  are  some  things  which  are  not  spoken 
of  under  the  open  sky.” 

The  baron  looked  at  his  son,  obeyed  his  silent  gesture, 
and  affecting  to  be  unmoved,  even  smiling,  he  followed 
him  into  the  hall,  the  door  of  which  Philippe  had  already 
opened.  When  the  doors  were  carefully  closed,  Philippe 
waited  for  a sign  from  his  father  to  begin  the  conversa- 
tion ; and  the  baron  being  seated  comfortably  in  the  best 
chair  in  the  salon,  — 

“ Monsieur,”  said  Philippe,  “ my  sister  and  I intend  to 
take  leave  of  you.” 

“ What  ! ” said  the  baron,  very  much  surprised,  “ you  — 
you  go  away  ! And  the  service  ] ” 

“ There  is  no  more  service  for  me.  You  know  the 
promises  made  by  the  king  have  not  been  realized,  — 
fortunately.” 

“ I do  not  see  any  ‘ fortunately 9 about  it.” 

“ Monsieur  — ” 

“ Explain  it  to  me ; how  can  you  be  fortunate  in  not 
being  colonel  of  a fine  regiment]  You  carry  your  phi- 
losophy to  extremes.” 

“ I carry  it  so  far  as  not  to  prefer  dishonor  to  prosperity, 
that  is  all.  But  we  will  not  enter  upon  considerations  of 
this  kind,  if  you  please,  Monsieur  — ” 

“We  will,  pardieu  1 99 


458 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ I entreat  you  — ” replied  Philippe,  with  a firmness 
which  signified,  “ I will  not ! ” 

The  baron  frowned.  “And  your  sister,  does  she  also 
forget  her  duties,  — her  service  with  Madame  1 ” 

“ There  are  some  duties  which  she  must  subordinate  to 
others,  Monsieur.” 

“ Of  what  nature,  Monsieur  ? ” 

“ Of  the  most  imperious  necessity.” 

The  baron  rose.  “ It  is  a foolish  sort  of  people,”  he 
growled,  “they  who  make  enigmas.” 

“ Is  all  this  that  I am  saying  really  an  enigma  to  you  ? ” 
“ Absolutely ! ” replied  the  baron,  with  a coolness  that 
astonished  Philippe. 

“ I will  explain,  then.  My  sister  goes  away  because  she 
is  obliged  to  fly  to  avoid  dishonor  ! ” 

The  baron  burst  out  laughing.  “ Oh,  what  model  chil- 
dren I have ! ” he  cried.  “ The  son  abandons  the  hope  of 
a regiment  because  he  fears  dishonor  ; the  daughter  gives 
up  a sure  position  because  she  is  afraid  of  dishonor. 
Eeally,  I have  returned  to  the  times  of  Brutus  and  Lu- 
cre tia  ! In  my  time  (a  miserable  time,  doubtless,  and 

not  equal  to  these  fine  days  of  philosophy)  when  a man 
saw  dishonor  approaching  in  the  distance  ; and  when  he, 
like  you,  carried  a sword  at  his  side ; and  when,  like  you, 
he  had  taken  lessons  from  two  masters  and  three  provost- 
marshals, — he  ran  the  first  dishonor  through  with  the 
point  of  his  sword.” 

Philippe  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

“ Yes,  it  is  hardly  the  thing  to  say  to  a philanthropist 
who  does  not  like  to  see  blood  flow ; but  then,  officers  are 
not  exactly  born  to  be  philanthropists.” 

“ Monsieur,  I know  as  well  as  you  the  necessities  im- 
posed by  a point  of  honor ; but  the  shedding  of  blood  will 
not  redeem  — ” 


FATHER  AND  SON. 


459 


“ Phrases,  phrases  of  a philosopher  ! ” said  the  old  man, 
angry  almost  to  the  point  of  becoming  majestic.  “ I think 
I was  going  to  say  of  a coward  ! 99 

“ You  did  well  not  to  say  so,”  replied  Philippe,  pale 
and  trembling. 

The  baron  met  proudly  the  implacable  and  threatening 
look  of  his  son.  “ I said,”  he  replied,  — “ and  my  logic  is 
not  so  had  as  they  would  make  me  believe,  — I said  that 
all  dishonor  in  this  world  comes,  not  from  an  action,  but 
from  the  tattling  about  it.  Ah,  it  is  thus  : If  you  are 
criminal  before  the  deaf,  the  blind,  the  dumb,  are  you  dis- 
honored] You  will  answer  me  by  that  stupid  line,  ‘The 
crime  makes  the  disgrace,  not  the  scaffold.’  That  is  very 
well  to  say  to  children  or  women,  but  to  a man,  mordieu  ! 
we  speak  a different  language.  Now  I imagine  that  I 
have  created  a man.  So,  then,  if  the  blind  man  has  seen 
anything,  if  the  deaf  man  has  heard,  if  the  dumb  man  has 
spoken,  you  seize  your  sword,  and  you  tear  out  the  eyes 
of  one,  and  the  tympanum  of  another,  and  you  cut  out 
the  tongue  of  the  third,  — this  is  how  an  attack  of  dis- 
honor is  met  by  a gentleman  of  the  name  of  Taverney- 
Maison-Rouge  ! ” 

“ A gentleman  of  that  name,  Monsieur,  always  knows 
that  among  all  obligations  the  first  is  that  of  refusing  to 
commit  a dishonorable  action ; that  is  the  reason  why  I 
will  not  reply  to  your  arguments.  But  it  sometimes  hap- 
pens that  opprobrium  springs  from  an  inevitable  misfor- 
tune ; this  is  the  case  with  my  sister  and  myself.” 

“ I come  now  to  your  sister.  If,  according  to  my  sys- 
tem, man  ought  never  to  fly  from  a thing  which  he  can 
fight  against  and  conquer,  woman  ought  also  to  stand 
firm.  Of  what  use  is  virtue,  Monsieur  Philosopher,  ex- 
cept to  repel  the  attacks  of  vice  ? Where  is  the  triumph 
of  this  same  virtue,  if  not  in  the  defeat  of  vice  ] ” and  Ta- 
verney  began  to  laugh.  “ Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  has 


460 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


been  much  frightened,  has  she  not  *?  She  feels  very  weak, 
then  ] If  so  — ” 

Philippe  suddenly  drew  nearer.  “ Monsieur,”  he  said, 
“ Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  has  not  been  weak ; she  was 
overcome  by  force  ! She  has  fallen  helpless  into  a trap.” 

“ Into  a trap  ? ” 

“ Yes.  Keep,  I beg,  a little  of  that  fervor  which  ani- 
mated you  just  now  to  blast  those  scoundrels  who  have 
basely  plotted  the  ruin  of  this  spotless  honor.” 

“I  do  not  understand  — ” 

“ You  shall  understand.  A villain,  I tell  you,  has  in- 
troduced some  one  into  the  chamber  of  Mademoiselle  de 
Taverney/ 1 

The  baron  grew  pale. 

“ A villain,”  continued  Philippe,  “ has  resolved  that  the 
name  of  Taverney  — mine,  yours,  Monsieur  — should  be 
soiled  by  an  indelible  stain.  Well!  where  is  your  young 
man’s  sword  to  shed  a little  blood1?  Is  it  worth  the 
trouble  'l  ” 

“ Monsieur  Philippe  — ” 

“ Ah,  fear  nothing ; I accuse  no  one,  I know  no  one. 
The  crime  was  plotted  in  the  dark,  accomplished  in  the 
dark ; the  result  shall  disappear  in  the  dark,  I am  deter- 
mined ! — I who  understand  in  my  own  way  the  glory 
of  my  house.” 

“ But  how  do  you  know  *?  ” cried  the  baron,  aroused 
from  his  stupor  by  the  allurement  of  an  infamous  ambition, 
of  an  ignoble  hope  ; “ what  indications  have  you  ? ” 

“ It  is  a question  which  no  one  who  may  see  my  sister, 
your  daughter,  in  a few  months  will  ask,  Monsieur  le 
Baron  ! ” 

“ But,  then,  Philippe,”  cried  the  old  man,  with  eyes 
full  of  joy,  “in  that  case  the  fortune  and  glory  of  our 
house  have  not  vanished  • in  that  case  we  shall  triumph  ! ” 

“ In  that  case,  you  are  really  the  man  I believed  you,” 


FATHER  AND  SON. 


461 


said  Philippe,  with  supreme  disgust ; “ you  have  betrayed 
yourself,  and  you  have  failed  in  intelligence  before  a judge, 
after  failing  in  heart  before  your  son.” 

“ Insolent ! ” 

“ Enough  ! ” replied  Philippe.  “ Tremble  lest  you 
awaken,  in  speaking  so  loud,  the  spirit,  alas ! too  insensi- 
ble, of  my  mother,  who,  if  she  had  lived,  would  have 
watched  over  her  daughter.” 

The  baron  lowered  his  eyes  before  the  dazzling  bright- 
ness which  flashed  from  the  eyes  of  his  son.  “ My 
daughter,”  he  continued  after  a moment,  “ shall  not  leave 
me  without  my  consent.” 

“ My  sister  will  never  see  you  again,  father.” 

“ Has  she  said  so  ? ” 

" She  sends  me  to  inform  you.” 

The  baron  wiped,  with  a trembling  hand,  his  white  and 
moist  lips.  “ Be  it  so,”  he  said.  Then,  shrugging  his 
shoulders,  “ I have  been  unfortunate  in  my  children,”  he 
cried,  — “ a fool  and  a brute.” 

Philippe  made  no  reply.  “ Good,  good  ! ” continued 
Taverney  ; “ I have  no  further  need  of  you ; go  — if  the 
thesis  is  recited.” 

“ I had  still  two  things  more  to  say  to  you,  Monsieur.” 

“ Speak.” 

“ The  first  is  this ; the  king  has  given  you  a casket  of 
pearls  — ” 

“ To  your  sister,  Monsieur.” 

“ To  you,  Monsieur.  Besides,  it  matters  little ; my  sis- 
ter never  wears  such  jewels.  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney 
is  not  a prostitute ; she  begs  you  to  return  the  casket  to 
the  one  who  gave  it,  or  if  you  fear  to  disoblige  his 
Majesty,  who  has  done  so  much  for  our  family,  to  keep  it 
yourself.” 

Philippe  handed  the  case  to  his  father.  The  latter  took 


462 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


it,  opened  it,  looked  at  the  pearls,  and  threw  it  upon  a 
chifFonniere.  “ What  next  ] ” he  said. 

“ Then,  Monsieur,  as  we  are  not  rich  ; since  you  have 
pledged,  or  spent  even,  the  property  of  our  mother,  for 
which  I will  not  reproach  you  — God  forbid  — ” 

“You  had  better  not,”  said  the  baron,  grinding  his 
teeth. 

“ But  still,  as  we  have  only  Taverney  left  of  this  moder- 
ate inheritance,  we  beg  you  to  choose  between  Taverney 
and  this  little  hotel  in  which  we  are.  Live  in  one,  we  will 
retire  to  the  other.” 

The  baron  rumpled  his  lace  frill  with  a rage  which  was 
betrayed  only  by  the  movement  of  his  fingers,  the  moisture 
of  his  forehead,  and  the  trembling  of  his  lips.  Philippe  did 
not  even  notice  it.  He  had  turned  away  his  head.  “ I 
prefer  Taverney,”  said  the  baron. 

“ Then  we  will  keep  the  hotel.” 

“ As  you  like.” 

“ When  will  you  set  out  ? ” 

“ This  very  evening ; no,  immediately.” 

Philippe  bowed. 

" At  Taverney,”  continued  the  baron,  “ one  may  be  a 
king  with  three  thousand  francs’  income.  I shall  be  twice 
king.”  He  stretched  his  hand  toward  the  chifFonniere  to 
take  the  casket,  which  he  put  in  his  pocket.  Then  he 
went  toward  the  door.  Suddenly  retracing  his  steps,  he 
said,  with  a wicked  smile,  “ Philippe,  I permit  you  to  sign 
our  name  to  the  first  treatise  of  philosophy  which  you 
publish.  As  for  Andree  — for  her  first  work  — advise  her 
to  call  it  Louis  or  Louise  ; it  is  a name  which  brings 
luck  ; ” and  he  left  with  a sneer.  Philippe,  with  blood- 
shot eye,  head  on  fire,  pressed  the  hilt  of  his  sword, 
murmuring,  “ My  God ! give  me  patience,  grant  me 
forgetfulness ! ” 


A CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE. 


463 


CHAPTER  LI. 

A CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE. 

After  having  copied  with  scrupulous  care  some  pages  of 
his  “ Reveries  d’un  Promeneur  Solitaire/1  Rousseau  had 
finished  a frugal  breakfast.  Although  a retreat  had  been 
offered  him  in  the  delicious  gardens  of  Ermenonville, 
Rousseau,  hesitating  to  submit  to  the  slavery  of  the  great, 
as  he  said  in  his  mania  of  misanthropy,  still  lived  in  this 
little  lodging  of  the  Rue  Plastriere  with  which  we  are 
acquainted. 

On  her  part,  Therese,  having  put  in  order  her  little 
house,  had  just  taken  her  basket  to  go  to  market.  It  was 
nine  o’clock  in  the  morning.  The  housekeeper,  according 
to  her  custom,  came  to  ask  Rousseau  what  he  would  like 
for  dinner  that  day.  Rousseau  emerged  from  his  reverv, 
slowly  raised  his  head,  and  looked  at  Therese  like  a man 
half-awake. 

“ Whatever  you  wish,”  he  said,  “ provided  there  are 
cherries  and  flowers.” 

“ We  will  see,  — if  all  this  is  not  too  dear.” 

“ Of  course,”  said  Rousseau. 

“For  indeed,”  continued  Ther&se,  “I  do  not  know 
whether  what  you  do  is  worth  anything ; but  it  seems  to 
me  that  they  do  not  pay  you  as  formerly.” 

“ You  are  mistaken,  Therese.  They  pay  me  the  same  ; 
but  I get  tired  and  work  less,  and  then  my  bookseller  is  in 
arrears  with  me  to  the  extent  of  half  a volume.” 


464 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“You  will  see  that  this  one  will  make  you  bankrupt 
again.” 

“ I hope  not ; he  is  an  honest  man.” 

“ An  honest  man,  an  honest  man  ! When  you  have 
said  that,  you  think  you  have  said  all.” 

“ I have  said  much,  at  least,”  replied  Rousseau,  smiling ; 
“for  I cannot  say  it  of  everybody.” 

“ It  is  not  surprising ; you  are  so  cross.” 

“ Therese,  we  are  wandering  from  the  question.” 

“Yes;  you  want  your  cherries,  gourmand!  you  want 
your  flowers,  sybarite  ! ” 

“ What  would  you  have,  my  good  housewife  ? ” replied 
Rousseau,  with  the  patience  of  an  angel ; “ my  heart  and 
my  head  are  so  bad  that  not  being  able  to  go  out,  I take 
delight  at  least  in  the  sight  of  what  God  spreads  over  the 
country  with  bountiful  hand.” 

Indeed,  Rousseau  was  pale  and  exhausted,  and  his 
listless  hands  turned  over  the  leaves  his  eyes  did  not 
read. 

Therese  shook  her  head.  “Very  well,  very  well,” 
said  she ; “lam  going  out  for  an  hour ; remember  that 
I shall  put  the  key  under  the  mat,  and  that  if  you 
need  — ” 

“ Oh,  I shall  not  go  out,”  said  Rousseau. 

“ I know  very  well  that  you  will  not  go  out,  since  you 
cannot  stand  up ; but  I say  this  to  you,  that  you  may  pay 
a little  attention  to  persons  who  may  call,  and  that  you 
may  answer  the  bell  if  it  rings.  You  may  be  sure  that  it 
is  not  I.” 

“Thanks,  good  Therese,  thanks;  go.” 

The  housekeeper  went  out,  grumbling  as  usual ; and  the 
sound  of  her  heavy  and  slow  step  was  heard  for  a long 
time  on  the  stairs.  But  as  soon  as  the  door  was  closed 
Rousseau  took  advantage  of  his  seclusion  to  stretch  him- 


A CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE. 


465 


self  deliciously  on  his  chair,  looked  at  the  birds  that 
pecked  upon  the  window-sill  at  some  crumbs  of  bread, 
and  enjoyed  the  sunlight  which  shone  in  between  the 
chimneys  of  the  neighboring  houses.  His  fancy,  young 
and  active,  had  no  sooner  felt  its  liberty  than  it  spread  its 
wings  like  the  sparrows  after  their  joyous  repast.  Sud- 
denly the  entrance  door  creaked  on  its  hinges,  which  dis- 
turbed the  philosopher’s  delightful  repose.  “ What ! ” he 
said  to  himself,  “ already  returned  ! have  I slept,  when  I 
thought  myself  only  dreaming  1 ” 

The  door  of  the  cabinet  slowly  opened  in  its  turn. 
Rousseau  turned  his  back  to  this  door ; convinced  that  it 
was  Therese  who  was  entering,  he  did  not  trouble  himself. 
There  was  a moment’s  silence.  Then  in  the  midst  of  this 
silence,  “ Pardon,  Monsieur,”  said  a voice  that  made  the 
philosopher  start. 

Rousseau  hastily  turned  round.  “ What,  Gilbert ! ” 
he  said. 

“Yes,  Gilbert;  once  more,  pardon,  Monsieur  Rousseau.” 

It  was,  indeed,  Gilbert,  — but  Gilbert  pale,  his  hair  di- 
shevelled, his  disordered  garments  scarcely  covering  his  thin 
and  trembling  limbs.  His  appearance  made  Rousseau 
shudder,  and  drew  from  him  an  exclamation  of  pity  which 
resembled  anxiety.  Gilbert  had  the  fixed  and  eager  eyes 
of  hungry  birds  of  prey  ; a smile  of  affected  timidity  con- 
trasted with  this  look,  as  would  the  upper  part  of  the 
eagle’s  solemn  head  with  the  lower  portion  of  the  cunning 
head  of  a wolf  or  fox. 

“ What  have  you  come  here  for  ] ” cried  Rousseau,  who 
did  not  like  disorder,  and  regarded  it  in  another  as  the 
sign  of  an  evil  purpose. 

“ Monsieur,  I am  hungry,”  replied  Gilbert. 

Rousseau  shuddered  at  hearing  the  sound  of  this  voice, 
uttering  the  most  terrible  word  in  the  human  language. 

VOL.  hi.  — 30 


466 


MEMOIPwS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ And  how  did  you  get  in  here  ? ” he  asked.  “ The  door 
was  locked.” 

, “ Monsieur,  I knew  that  Madame  Therese  generally  puts 

the  key  under  the  mat.  I waited  until  Madame  Therese 
had  gone  out,  for  she  does  not  like  me,  and  perhaps 
would  have  refused  to  receive  me  or  take  me  to  you ; then, 
when  you  were  alone,  I came  up,  took  the  key  from  its 
hiding  place,  and  here  I am.’ 1 

Rousseau  raised  himself  on  the  two  arms  of  his  chair. 

“ Listen  to  me,”  said  Gilbert,  “ for  a moment,  one 
single  moment ; I swear  to  you,  Monsieur  Rousseau,  that 
I deserve  to  be  heard.” 

“ Well/’  replied  Rousseau,  full  of  amazement  at  sight  of 
this  face,  which  no  longer  expressed  any  of  the  sentiments 
common  to  men. 

“ I should  tell  you  that  I am  reduced  to  such  an  extrem- 
ity that  I do  not  know  whether  to  steal,  kill  myself,  or  do 
something  still  worse.  Oh,  do  not  be  alarmed,  my  mas- 
ter and  protector,”  said  Gilbert  in  a voice  full  of  gentleness, 
“ for  I think,  on  reflection,  that  I shall  die  without  having 
to  kill  myself.  During  the  eight  days  since  I fled  from 
Trianon  I have  wandered  in  the  woods  and  fields  without 
eating  anything  but  green  vegetables  or  wild  fruits.  I am 
weak.  I am  perishing  with  fatigue  and  hunger.  As  for 
stealing,  it  is  not  from  you  that  I shall  attempt  it ; I like 
your  house  too  well,  Monsieur  Rousseau.  As  for  that  third 
thing,  oh  ! to  accomplish  it  — ” 

“ Well  ? ” said  Rousseau. 

“ Well,  it  needs  resolution,  which  I have  come  here  to 
seek.” 

“ Are  you  mad?  ” cried  Rousseau. 

“ No,  Monsieur ; but  I am  very  unhappy,  full  of  despair, 
and  would  have  drowned  myself  in  the  Seine  this  morning, 
but  for  a reflection  which  occurred  to  me.” 


A CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE. 


467 


“ What  reflection  1 ” 

“ Why,  that  you  have  written,  ‘ Suicide  is  a robbery 
committed  on  mankind. } ” 

Rousseau  looked  at  the  young  man  as  if  to  say  to  him, 
“ Do  you  flatter  yourself  that  I was  thinking  of  you  in 
writing  this  ? ” 

“Oh,  I understand,”  murmured  Gilbert. 

“ I do  not  think  so,”  said  Rousseau. 

“You  mean  to  say,  ‘ Would  your  death,  yours,  — the 
death  of  a worthless  fellow,  who  possesses  nothing,  who 
does  nothing,  — be  worthy  to  be  called  an  event  ' ” 

“ That  is  not  the  question,”  said  Rousseau,  ashamed  of 
being  divined  ; “ but  you  were  hungry,  I think.” 

“ Yes ; I said  so.” 

“Well,  since  you  knew  where  the  door  was,  you  also 
know  where  the  bread  is ; go  to  the  cupboard,  take  some 
bread,  and  go  away.” 

Gilbert  did  not  stir. 

“ If  it  is  not  bread  you  want,  but  money,  I do  not 
think  you  wicked  enough  to  maltreat  an  old  man,  who 
was  your  protector,  in  the  very  house  that  has  given  you 
shelter.  Be  satisfied,  then,  with  this  little  — here  ; ” and 
he  offered  him  some  pieces  of  money  which  he  took  from 
his  pocket. 

Gilbert  stayed  his  hand.  “ Oh  ! ” he  said,  with  poign- 
ant grief,  “ it  is  a question  neither  of  money  nor  bread ; 
you  did  not  understand  what  I meant  when  I spoke  of 
killing  myself.  If  I do  not  kill  myself,  it  is  because  my 
life  may  now  be  useful  to  some  one,  — because  my  death 
might  rob  some  one,  Monsieur.  You,  who  know  all  the 
social  laws,  all  the  natural  obligations,  tell  me  if  there 
is  in  this  world  any  tie  which  should  bind  a man  to  life 
who  wishes  to  die  ! ” 

“ There  are  many,”  said  Rousseau. 


468 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ To  be  a father,”  murmured  Gilbert,  “ is  that  one  of 
the  ties  ? Look  at  me  while  you  answer,  Monsieur  Rous- 
seau, that  I may  read  it  in  your  eyes.” 

“ Yes,”  stammered  Rousseau,  — “ yes,  most  certainly. 
Why  this  question  from  you  ? ” 

“ Monsieur,  your  words  will  be  a law  to  me,”  said  Gil- 
bert ; “ consider  them  carefully,  I entreat  you,  Monsieur. 
I am  so  unhappy  that  I would  like  to  kill  myself ; but  — 
but  I have  a child  ! ” 

Rousseau  started  in  astonishment. 

“ Oh,  do  not  mock  at  me,  Monsieur  ! ” Gilbert  said 
humbly;  “you  will  think  you  are  only  pricking  my 
heart  when  indeed  you  are  opening  it  as  with  a poniard. 
I repeat  it,  I have  a child  ! ” 

Rousseau  looked  at  him  without  answering. 

“ But  for  this  I should  be  already  dead,”  continued 
Gilbert;  “in  this  alternative  I said  to  myself  that  you 
would  give  me  good  advice,  and  so  I came.” 

“ But,”  asked  Rousseau,  “ why  have  I advice  to  give 
you?  Did  you  consult  me  when  you  committed  the 
fault  ? ” 

“ Monsieur,  this  fault  — ” and  Gilbert,  with  a strange 
expression,  approached  Rousseau. 

“ Well  ? ” said  the  latter. 

“ This  fault,”  replied  Gilbert,  “ there  are  those  who  call 
it  a crime.” 

“ A crime  ! All  the  more  reason,  then,  that  you  should 
not  speak  to  me  of  it.  I am  a man  like  you,  and  not  a 
confessor.  Besides,  what  you  tell  me  does  not  surprise 
me.  I always  foresaw  that  you  would  turn  out  badly ; 
you  have  a wicked  nature.” 

“ No,  Monsieur,”  replied  Gilbert,  shaking  his  head, 
gloomily,  — “no,  Monsieur,  you  are  mistaken ; my  mind 
is  unnatural,  or  rather,  perverted.  I have  read  many 


A CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE. 


469 


books  which  taught  me  the  equality  of  castes,  pride  of 
spirit,  the  dignity  of  instincts.  These  books,  Monsieur, 
had  so  illustrious  authors  that  a poor  peasant  like  myself 
might  well  be  led  astray.  I am  lost.” 

“ Ah,  ah  ! I see  what  you  are  aiming  at,  Monsieur 
Gilbert.” 

“II" 

“Yes;  you  are  blaming  my  doctrine.  Have  you  not 
free  will  ] ” 

“I  do  not  blame,  Monsieur ; I say  only  that  I have 
read.  I blame  my  credulity ; I believed,  I fell.  There 
are  two  causes  for  my  crime,  — you  are  the  first,  and  I 
come,  in  the  first  place,  to  you  ; I shall  next  go  to  the 
second,  but  in  his  turn,  and  at  the  proper  time.” 

“In  short,  what  is  it  you  ask  of  me  ? ” 

“Neither  gifts,  nor  shelter,  nor  bread  even,  although  I 
am  an  outcast  and  hungry.  No,  I ask  of  you  moral  sup- 
port ; I ask  you  to  confirm  your  doctrine.  I ask  you  to 
restore  by  a word  my  strength,  which  is  broken  down, 
not  by  inanition  in  my  arms  and  legs,  but  by  doubt  in 
my  head  and  heart.  Monsieur  Rousseau,  I entreat  you, 
therefore,  to  tell  me  if  what  I have  felt  for  the  past  eight 
days  is  the  pain  of  hunger  in  the  muscles  of  my  stomach, 
or  if  it  is  the  torture  of  remorse  in  the  organs  of  my  mind. 
In  committing  a crime,  Monsieur,  I have  begotten  a child. 
Well,  then,  tell  me,  must  I tear  my  hair  in  bitter  despair, 
and  roll  in  the  dust  crying,  Pardon ! or  must  I exclaim, 
like  the  woman  in  Scripture,  6 1 have  done  as  others ; if 
there  is  among  men  a better  one  than  I,  let  him  stone  me 9 1 
In  a word,  Monsieur  Rousseau,  you  who  must  have  felt 
what  I feel,  answer  this  question.  Say,  say,  is  it  natural 
for  a father  to  abandon  his  child  h 99 

Gilbert  had  no  sooner  spoken  thus  than  Rousseau  be- 
came paler  than  Gilbert  himself,  and  losing  self-control, 


470 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ What  right  have  you  to  speak  to  rue  thus  ? ” he 
stammered. 

“Because,  in  your  house,  Monsieur  Rousseau,  in  this 
garret  where  you  showed  me  hospitality,  I read  what  you 
have  written  on  this  subject ; because  you  have  declared 
that  children  born  in  misery  belong  to  the  State,  which 
ought  to  take  care  of  them ; because,  in  short,  you  have 
always  considered  yourself  an  honest  man,  although  you 
have  not  shrunk  from  abandoning  children  which  were 
born  to  you.” 

“ Miserable  fellow,”  said  Rousseau,  “you  have  read  my 
book,  and  you  use  such  language  to  me ! ” 

“ Well  ? ” said  Gilbert. 

“ Well,  vou  have  a wicked  mind  joined  to  a wicked 
heart.” 

“ Monsieur  Rousseau  ! ” 

“ You  have  misread  my  books,  as  you  misread  human 
life  ! You  have  seen  but  the  surface  of  the  pages,  as  you 
see  only  that  of  the  face  ! Ah,  you  expect  to  make  me 
an  accomplice  in  your  crime  by  citing  to  me  the  books  I 
have  written,  — by  saying  to  me,  ‘ You  confess  having 
done  this,  therefore  I may  do  it ! 9 But,  unhappy  man, 
what  you  do  not  know,  what  you  have  not  read  in  my 
books,  what  you  have  not  divined,  is  that  the  whole  life 
of  him  whom  you  take  as  an  example,  this  life  of  misery 
and  suffering,  I could  exchange  for  a gilded  existence,  — 
voluptuous,  full  of  splendor  and  pleasure.  Have  I less 
talent  than  Monsieur  de  Voltaire,  and  could  I not  produce 
as  much  as  he  'i  By  applying  myself  less  than  I do,  could 
I not  sell  my  books  as  dear  as  he  sells  his,  and  bring  the 
money  rolling  into  my  coffer,  keeping  always  a coffer  half- 
full at  the  disposal  of  my  book-sellers  1 Gold  attracts 
gold  ; do  you  not  know  it  ? I also  could  have  had  a car- 
riage for  a young  and  beautiful  mistress  to  ride  in,  and 


A CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE. 


471 


you  may  be  sure  this  luxury  would  not  have  dried  up  the 
source  of  an  inexhaustible  poesy.  Have  I not  passions 
still  1 Observe  carefully  my  eyes,  which  at  sixty  years 
yet  glow  with  the  ardors  of  youth  and  desire.  You  who 
have  read  or  copied  my  books,  come,  do  you  not  recall 
that  in  spite  of  the  decline  of  years,  notwithstanding  very 
real  and  very  serious  troubles,  my  heart,  still  young,  seems 
to  have  inherited,  in  order  to  suffer  more,  all  the  strength 
of  the  other  parts  of  my  organization  1 Weighed  down 
with  infirmities  which  prevent  me  from  walking,  I feel 
that  I have  more  vigor  and  life  for  sustaining  sorrow  than 
I ever  had  in  my  youth  for  the  reception  of  the  rare  felici- 
ties which  God  has  bestowed  upon  me.” 

“ I know  all  that,  Monsieur,”  said  Gilbert.  “ I have 
observed  you  closely  and  have  understood  you.” 

“Then,  if  you  have  observed  me  closely,  if  you  have 
understood  me,  has  not  my  life  for  you  a meaning  which 
others  do  not  see  ? Does  not  this  strange  self-denial,  which 
is  unnatural  to  me,  mean  that  I wish  to  expiate  — ” 

“ Expiate  ! ” murmured  Gilbert. 

“Have  you  not  understood,”  continued  the  philosopher, 
“ that  this  misery  having  driven  me  in  the  very  first  place 
to  make  an  unreasonable  resolution,  I have  since  been  un- 
able to  find  any  other  excuse  for  this  resolution  than  dis- 
interestedness and  perseverance  in  misery  ] Have  you  not 
understood  that  I have  punished  my  mind  by  humiliation  1 
For  it  was  my  mind  that  was  guilty,  — my  mind,  which 
had  recourse  to  paradoxes  to  justify  itself,  while  on  the 
other  hand,  I punished  my  heart  by  ceaseless  remorse.” 

“ Ah  ! ” cried  Gilbert,  “ it  is  thus  you  reply  to  me  ! it 
is  thus  that  you  philosophers,  who  fling  your  written  pre- 
cepts at  mankind,  plunge  us  in  despair,  and  then  blame  us 
if  we  are  angry  with  you  ! Eh  ! of  what  consequence  is 
your  humiliation  to  me,  when  it  is  secret ; your  remorse, 


472 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


when  it  is  unknown?  Oh,  woe  ! woe  to  you,  woe  ! aud 
may  the  crimes  committed  in  your  name  fall  upon  your 
own  head ! ” 

“ On  my  head,  you  say,  curses,  — and  with  them,  pun- 
ishment ; for  you  forget  the  punishment.  Oh,  that  would 
he  too  much!  You  who  have  sinned  as  I have,  you 
condemn  yourself  as  severely  as  you  do  me ! ” 

“ More  severely  even,”  said  Gilbert ; “ for  my  punishment 
will  be  terrible ; for  since  I have  no  longer  faith  in  any- 
thing, I shall  let  my  adversary,  or  rather  my  enemy,  kill 
me,  — a suicide  which  my  misery  recommends,  which  my 
conscience  excuses ; for  now  my  death  is  no  longer  a 
robbery  of  mankind,  and  when  you  wrote  that,  you  wrote 
what  you  did  not  think.” 

“Stop,  unhappy  man!”  said  Rousseau,  “stop!  have 
you  not  done  harm  enough  with  foolish  credulity  ? Must 
you  do  more  still  with  stupid  scepticism?  You  have 
spoken  to  me  of  a child  ? You  said  that  you  were,  or  were 
about  to  be,  a father  ? ” 

“ I said  so,”  repeated  Gilbert. 

“ Do  you  realize  what  it  is,”  murmured  Rousseau,  in  a 
low  voice,  “ to  drag  with  you,  not  to  death,  but  to  shame, 
creatures  born  to  breathe  freely  and  innocently  the  pure  air 
of  virtue,  a gift  of  God  to  every  man  born  into  the  world  ? 
Let  me  tell  you  nevertheless,  how  horrible  my  condition  is. 
When  I abandoned  my  children,  I imagined  that  society, 
which  all  superiority  offends,  would  throw  this  wrong  in 
my  face  as  an  ignominious  reproach  ; then  I justified  my- 
self with  paradoxes ; then  I employed  ten  years  of  my  life 
in  advising  mothers  how  to  educate  their  children,  — I 
who  did  not  know  what  it  was  to  be  a father ; in  advising 
the  nation  how  to  make  its  citizens  brave  and  honest,  — 
I who  had  been  weak  and  corrupt.  Then  one  day  the 
executioner,  who  avenges  society,  the  nation,  and  the 


A CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE. 


473 


orphan,  unable  to  reach  me,  seized  my  book  and  burned 
it  as  a living  shame  to  the  country  whose  air  it  had  poi- 
soned. Decide,  divine  judge ! was  I right  in  action  ; was 
I wrong  in  my  precepts?  You  do  not  answer  ; God  him- 
self would  be  perplexed,  — God,  who  holds  in  his  hand 
the  unerring  scales  of  justice.  Well,  I have  a heart  which 
solves  the  question  ; and  this  heart  has  said  to  me  from  its 
very  depths:  ‘Woe  to  you,  unnatural  father,  who  have 
abandoned  your  children  ! Woe  to  you,  if  you  meet  the 
young  prostitute  who  laughs  brazenly  at  night  at  the  street 
corners ; for  it  may  be  your  abandoned  daughter,  whom 
hunger  has  driven  to  infamy  ! Woe  to  you,  if  you  meet  in 
the  street  the  arrested  thief,  with  his  guilt  fresh  upon 
him  ; for  he  may  be  your  abandoned  son,  whom  hunger 
has  driven  to  crime  ! 9 99 

After  saying  these  words,  Rousseau  who  had  risen,  fell 
back  upon  his  chair.  “ And  yet,”  he  continued,  with  a 
broken  voice  which  had  the  accent  of  a prayer,  “ I have 
not  been  as‘>  'guilty  as  they  believe ; I have  seen  an  un- 
feeling mother,  an  accomplice  in  my  crime,  forget  like 
the  animals,  and  I said  to  myself,  ‘ God  has  allowed  the 
mother  to  forget ; it  is  therefore  right  for  her  to  forget/ 
Well,  I was  at  that  time  in  error;  and  now  — since  you 
have  heard  me  say  to  you  what  I never  before  said  to  any 
one  — you  must  remain  in  error  no  longer.” 

“ So,”  asked  the  young  man,  knitting  his  brow,  “ you 
would  never  have  abandoned  your  children  if  you  had  had 
money  enough  to  support  them  ? ” 

“ If  only  what  was  absolutely  needful,  — no,  never ; 
I swear  it,  never  ! ” and  Rousseau  solemnly  stretched 
his  trembling  hand  toward  heaven. 

“Twenty  thousand  francs,”  asked  Gilbert,  “is  tha£ 
enough  to  support  a child  ? ” 

“ Yes ; it  is  enough,”  said  Rousseau. 


474 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Good,”  said  Gilbert ; “ thanks,  Monsieur ; now  I know 
what  remains  for  me  to  do.” 

“ And  in  any  event,  young  as  you  are,  with  your  labor, 
you  can  support  your  child,”  said  Rousseau.  “ But  you 
have  spoken  of  crime  ; they  are  looking  for  you,  pursuing 
you  perhaps  1 ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur.” 

“ Well,  conceal  yourself  here,  my  boy ; you  are  always 
welcome  to  the  little  garret.” 

“ You  are  a man  I love,  Master ! ” cried  Gilbert,  “ and 
your  offer  fills  me  with  joy.  Indeed,  I ask  only  a shelter ; 
as  for  my  bread,  I wrill  earn  it.  You  know  that  I am  not 
an  idler.” 

“ Well,”  said  Rousseau,  appearing  uneasy,  “ if  the  thing 
is  settled,  go  up ; do  not  let  Madame  Rousseau  find  you 
here.  She  never  goes  up  to  the  garret  nowr ; for  since 
your  departure  we  lock  up  nothing.  Your  mattress  is  still 
there  ; make  yourself  as  comfortable  as  possible.” 

“ Thanks,  Monsieur ; if  that  is  so  I am  more  fortunate 
than  I deserve  to  be.” 

“Now  is  that  all  you  desire  ?”  said  Rousseau,  looking 
toward  the  door. 

“ No,  Monsieur  ; one  word  more,  if  you  please.” 

“ Speak.” 

“ One  day  at  Luciennes  you  accused  me  of  having  be- 
trayed you ; I did  not  betray  any  one,  Monsieur,  I was 
pursuing  my  love  affair.” 

“ Let  us  not  speak  of  that.  Is  that  all  ? ” 

“ Yes  ; now,  Monsieur  Rousseau,  when  we  are  ignorant 
of  the  address  of  any  one  at  Paris,  can  we  obtain  it?  ” 

“ Undoubtedly,  when  that  person  is  known.” 

“ He  of  whom  I speak  is  very  well  known.” 

“ His  name  ? ” 

“ Monsieur  le  Comte  Joseph  Balsamo.” 


A CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE. 


475 


Rousseau  shuddered ; he  had  not  forgotten  the  meeting 
in  the  Rue  Plastriere.  “ What  do  you  want  with  this 
man  ? ” he  asked. 

“ A very  simple  thing.  I have  accused  you  — you,  my 
master  — of  being  morally  the  cause  of  my  crime,  since  I 
believed  I was  only  obeying  a natural  law.” 

“ And  I have  undeceived  you  ? ” cried  Rousseau,  trem- 
bling at  the  idea  of  this  responsibility. 

“ You  have  enlightened  me,  at  least.” 

“ Well,  what  were  you  going  to  say  % ” 

“ That  my  crime  had  not  only  a moral  cause,  but  also  a 
physical  one.” 

“ And  this  Comte  de  Balsamo  is  the  physical  cause,  is  he 
not  1 ” 

“ Yes.  I have  copied  examples,  I have  seized  an  op- 
portunity ; and  in  this  — I see  it  now  — I have  acted 
like  a wild  animal,  and  not  like  a man.  You  gave  me  the 
example  ; Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Balsamo,  the  opportunity. 
Do  you  know  where  he  lives  1 ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Give  me  his  address,  then.” 

“ Rue  Saint  Claude.” 

“ Thanks  ; I shall  go  to  his  house  immediately.” 

“ Take  care,  child,”  exclaimed  Rousseau ; “ he  is  power- 
ful and  adroit.” 

“ Fear  nothing,  Monsieur  Rousseau.  I am  determined, 
and  you  have  taught  me  to  keep  my  temper.” 

“ Quick,  quick,  — go  upstairs  ! ” cried  Rousseau ; “ I 
hear  the  gate  shut ; it  is,  doubtless,  Madame  Rousseau 
coming  in.  Hide  yourself  in  the  garret  until  she  has  come 
in,  then  you  can  go  away.” 

“ The  key,  if  you  please  V9 
“ On  the  nail,  in  the  kitchen,  as  usual.” 

“ Adieu,  Monsieur,  adieu.” 


476 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Take  some  bread ; I will  prepare  you  some  work  for 
to-night.” 

“ Thanks  ! ” And  Gilbert  slipped  out  so  quickly  that 
he  was  already  in  his  garret  before  Therese  had  reached 
the  second  floor. 

Furnished  with  the  precious  information  given  him  by 
Rousseau,  Gilbert  made  no  delay  in  putting  his  project  into 
execution.  Indeed,  Therese  had  no  sooner  closed  the  door 
of  her  apartment  than  the  young  man,  who  from  the 
door  of  his  garret  had  watched  all  her  movements, 
descended  the  stairs  as  rapidly  as  if  he  had  not  been 
weakened  by  a long  fast.  His  head  was  full  of  hopeful 
plans,  of  bitter  memories,  and  over  all  hovered  an  aveng- 
ing spirit  which  spurred  him  on  with  its  complaints  and 
accusations.  He  arrived  at  Rue  Saint  Claude  in  a state 
difficult  to  describe.  As  he  entered  the  court  of  the  hotel, 
Balsamo  was  accompanying  to  the  door  the  Prince  de 
Rohan,  who  was  paying  his  generous  alchemist  a visit. 
As  the  prince  was  leaving,  stopping  once  more  to  renew 
his  thanks  to  Balsamo,  the  poor  ragged  fellow  slipped  in 
like  a dog,  not  daring  to  look  about  him  for  fear  of  being 
dazzled. 

The  carriage  of  Prince  Louis  awaited  him  on  the  boule- 
vard ; the  prelate  slowly  crossed  the  space  that  separated 
him  from  his  carriage,  which  rapidly  rolled  away  as  soon 
as  the  door  was  closed  upon  him.  Balsamo  had  looked 
after  him  sadly,  and  when  the  carriage  had  disappeared  he 
turned  toward  the  steps,  upon  which  stood  a sort  of  beggar 
in  the  attitude  of  supplication.  Balsamo  stepped  up  to 
him,  and  although  his  lips  were  silent,  his  expressive  look 
was  an  interrogatory. 

“ A quarter  of  an  hour’s  audience,  if  you  please, 
Monsieur  le  Comte,”  said  the  young  man  in  the  ragged 
clothes. 


A CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE. 


477 


“ Who  are  you,  my  friend  ? ” asked  Balsamo,  with  su- 
preme gentleness. 

“ Do  you  not  recognize  me  ? ” asked  Gilbert. 

“No,  — but  no  matter;  come,”  replied  Balsamo,  not 
disturbed  by  the  strange  expression  of  the  solicitor,  any 
more  than  by  his  ragged  garments  and  his  importunity. 
Walking  before  him  he  led  him  into  the  nearest  apart- 
ment, where,  seating  himself,  without  change  of  tone  or 
expression,  he  said,  “ You  asked  if  I recognized  you  V9 
“ Yes,  Monsieur  le  Comte.” 

“ Indeed,  I think  I have  seen  you  somewhere.” 

“ At  Taverney,  Monsieur,  when  you  came  there  on  the 
night  before  the  arrival  of  the  dauphiness.” 

“ What  were  you  doing  at  Taverney  1 ” 

“ I lived  there.” 

“ As  servant  of  the  family  ? 99 
“ No  ; as  member  of  the  family.” 

“ You  have  left  Taverney  h ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur ; nearly  three  years  since.” 

“ And  you  came  — 99 

“ To  Paris,  where  at  first  I studied  with  Monsieur  Bous- 
seau ; after  which  I was  placed  in  the  gardens  at  Trianon 
in  the  capacity  of  under-gardener,  through  the  influence  of 
Monsieur  de  Jussieu.” 

“ These  are  great  names  you  mention,  my  friend.  What 
do  you  want  with  me  1 99 

“ I will  tell  you  ; ” and  pausing,  he  looked  at  Balsamo 
steadily.  “Do  you  remember,”  he  continued,  “ coming  to 
Trianon  during  the  night  of  the  great  storm,  six  weeks  ago 
next  Friday  ] ” 

Balsamo’s  seriousness  was  changed  to  melancholy, 
as  he  said,  “ Yes,  I remember ; you  saw  me  there, 
perhaps  1 ” 

“ I saw  you.” 


478 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Then  you  come  to  be  paid  for  the  secret  ? ” said  Ral- 
samo,  in  a threatening  tone. 

“No,  Monsieur;  for  I am  more  interested  than  you  in 
keeping  this  secret.” 

“Then  you  are  the  one  they  call  Gilbert]”  said 
Balsam  o. 

“ Yes,  Monsieur  le  Comte.” 

Balsamo  looked  with  long  and  searching  gaze  at  the 
young  man  whose  name  carried  with  it  so  terrible  a charge. 
He  was  surprised,  he  who  was  a judge  of  men,  at  the  assu- 
rance of  his  bearing,  at  his  dignity  of  speech.  Gilbert  was 
standing  before  a table  upon  which  he  did  not  lean.  One 
of  his  thin  hands,  white,  even  though  accustomed  to  gar- 
den work,  was  hidden  in  his  bosom  ; the  other  fell  grace- 
fully at  his  side. 

“ I see  by  your  countenance,”  said  Balsamo,  “ why  you 
have  come  here ; you  know  that  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney 
has  brought  a terrible  charge  against  you,  that  by  the  aid 
of  science  I have  forced  her  to  tell  the  truth ; you  have 
come  to  upbraid  me  for  obtaining  this  evidence,  have  you 
not  ] to  reproach  me  with  this  conjuring  of  a secret  which, 
but  for  me,  would  have  remained  buried  in  darkness  as  in 
a tomb  ]” 

Gilbert  only  nodded  his  head. 

“You  are  wrong,  however,”  continued  Balsamo;  “for, 
admitting  that  I had  wished  to  inform  against  you  without 
being  driven  to  it  in  my  own  interest,  — for  they  accused 
me,  — admitting  that  I had  treated  you  as  an  enemy,  that 
I had  attacked  you  while  defending  myself ; admitting,  I 
say,  all  this,  you  have  no  right  to  say  anything,  for  indeed 
you  have  committed  a base  deed.” 

Gilbert  tore  his  breast  with  his  finger-nails,  but  answered 
nothing. 

“ The  brother  will  pursue  you,  and  the  sister  will  have 


A CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE.  479 

yon  killed,”  replied  Balsam o,  “ if  you  have  the  imprudence 
to  walk  as  you  do  about  the  streets  of  Paris.” 

“ Oh,  as  to  that,  it  is  of  little  consequence  to  me,”  said 
Gilbert. 

“ What ! of  little  consequence  to  you  h ” 

“ Yes ; I loved  Mademoiselle  Andree.  I loved  her  as  no 
other  will  ever  love  her ; hut  she  scorned  me,  — me  whose 
sentiments  for  her  were  so  respectful ; she  scorned  me,  — 
me  who  had  already  held  her  twice  in  my  arms  without 
even  daring  to  touch  with  my  lips  the  hem  of  her  dress.” 

“ Precisely,  and  you  have  made  her  pay  for  this  respect , 
you  have  avenged  yourself  for  her  scorn,  by  what,  — by  a 
snare  ” 

“ Oh,  no,  no  ! the  snare  did  not  originate  with  me  ; an 
opportunity  for  committing  the  crime  was  furnished  me.” 

“ By  whom  1 ” 

“ By  you.” 

Balsamo  drew  himself  up  as  if  a serpent  had  stung  him. 
“ By  me  ? ” he  cried. 

“ By  you ; yes,  Monsieur,  by  you,”  repeated  Gilbert. 
“ Monsieur,  you  magnetized  Mademoiselle  Andree ; then 
you  fled.  As  you  wTent  away,  her  limbs  failed  her,  and 
she  fell.  I took  her  in  my  arms  to  carry  her  to  her 
chamber  ; I felt  her  body  touching  mine,  — that  contact 
would  have  animated  a marble  statue  ! I,  who  loved, 
yielded  to  my  love.  Am  I then  so  criminal  as  they  say. 
Monsieur  ? I ask  it  of  you,  — of  you,  the  cause  of  my 
misfortune.” 

Balsamo  fixed  upon  Gilbert  a look  filled  with  sadness 
and  pity.  “ You  are  right,  child,”  he  said  ; " it  is  I who 
have  caused  your  crime  and  the  misfortune  of  this  young 
girl.” 

“ And  instead  of  providing  a remedy  for  it,  — you  who 
are  so  powerful,  and  who  ought  to  be  so  good,  — you  have 


480 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


aggravated  the  misfortune  of  the  young  girl,  you  have 
exposed  the  criminal  to  death.” 

“ It  is  true/*  replied  Balsamo,  “ and  what  you  say  is 
reasonable.  For  some  time  past,  look  you,  young  man,  I 
have  been  a thing  accursed,  and  all  the  projects  of  my 
brain  assume,  when  executed,  threatening  and  pernicious 
forms.  This  is  the  consequence  of  misfortunes  that  I also 
have  suffered,  and  which  you  do  not  comprehend.  At 
the  same  time  it  is  no  reason  why  I should  make  others 
suffer ; tell  me  what  you  want.” 

“ I ask  the  means  of  repairing  all,  Monsieur  le  Comte, 
— crime  and  misfortune.” 

“ You  love  this  young  girl  1 ” 

“ Oh,  yes  ! ” 

“ There  are  many  kinds  of  love.  In  what  way  do  you 
love  her  1 ” 

“ Before  possessing  her,  I loved  her  to  distraction ; now, 
I love  her  madly.  I should  die  of  grief  if  she  received 
me  with  anger ; I should  die  of  joy  if  she  allowed  me  to 
kiss  her  feet.” 

“ She  is  of  noble  birth,  but  she  is  poor,”  said  Balsamo, 
reflecting. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Yet  her  brother  is  a man  of  heart,  who,  I think,  cares 
but  little  for  the  prerogative  of  birth.  What  would  hap- 
pen if  you  asked  this  brother  for  his  sister  in  marriage  ? ” 
“He  would  kill  me,”  Gilbert  replied  coldly;  “however, 
as  I desire  death  more  than  I fear  it,  if  you  advise  me  to 
make  this  demand,  I will  do  so.” 

Balsamo  considered.  “ You  are  a man  of  sense/*  he  said, 
“and  we  may  say  that  you  are  a man  of  heart,  although 
your  action  was  really  criminal,  my  complicity  apart. 
Well,  seek  out  not  Monsieur  de  Tavern ey  the  son,  but  the 
Baron  de  Taverney,  his  father,  and  say  to  him  that  or: 


A CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE. 


481 


the  day  he  permits  you  to  marry  his  daughter,  you  will 
bring  a dowry  to  Mademoiselle  Andree.” 

“ I cannot  say  that,  Monsieur  le  Comte ; I have 
nothing.” 

“ And  I tell  you  that  you  shall  bring  her  a dowry  of 
one  hundred  thousand  crowns,  which  I will  give  you  to 
repair  the  misfortune  and  the  crime,  as  you  said  just 
now.” 

“ He  will  not  believe  me  ; he  knows  that  I am  poor.” 

“ Well,  if  he  does  not  believe  you,  show  him  these 
bank-notes,  and  he  will  no  longer  doubt.”  While  saying 
this,  Balsamo  opened  the  drawer  of  a table,  and  counted 
thirty  notes  of  ten  thousand  francs  each.  He  then 
handed  them  to  Gilbert. 

“ And  is  this  money  ! ” said  the  young  man. 

“ Read.” 

Gilbert  cast  an  eager  glance  at  the  roll  he  was  holding 
in  his  hand,  and  saw  the  truth  of  what  Balsamo  said.  A 
joyful  light  shone  in  his  eyes.  “ It  may  be  possible  ! ” he 
cried.  “ But,  no  ; such  generosity  would  be  too  sublime.” 
“ You  are  distrustful,”  said  Balsamo ; “ you  are  right ; 
but  accustom  yourself  to  choose  your  subjects  for  sus- 
picion. Take,  then,  these  hundred  thousand  crowns,  and 
go  to  Monsieur  de  Taverney.” 

“ Monsieur,”  said  Gilbert,  “ while  such  a sum  is  given 
by  word  only  I cannot  believe  in  the  reality  of  the  gift.” 
Balsamo  took  a pen  and  wrote  : — 

I give  to  Gilbert  as  dowry,  the  day  he  signs  his  contract  of 
marriage  with  Mademoiselle  Andree  de  Taverney,  the  sum  of 
one  hundred  thousand  crowns,  which  I have  delivered  him  in 
advance,  in  the  hope  of  a successful  negotiation. 

Joseph  Balsamo. 

“ Take  this  paper,  go,  and  doubt  no  longer.” 

Gilbert  received  the  paper  with  a trembling  hand,  “ Mon- 

VOL.  III.  31 


482 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


sieur,”  he  said,  "if  I owe  you  so  much  happiness,  you 
shall  he  the  god  I will  worship  upon  the  earth.” 

“ There  is  but  one  God  to  worship,”  Balsamo  answered 
seriously,  " and  I am  not  he.  Go,  my  friend.” 

“ A last  favor,  Monsieur.” 

“ What  is  it  ? ” 

"Give  me  fifty  francs.” 

“ You  ask  me  for  fifty  francs  when  you  already  have 
three  hundred  thousand  in  your  hand  1 ” 

“ These  three  hundred  thousand  francs  are  not  mine,” 
said  Gilbert,  “ until  the  day  when  Mademoiselle  Andree 
consents  to  marry  me.” 

“ And  for  what  are  these  fifty  francs  1 ” 

“ To  purchase  a decent  coat  in  which  I may  present 
myself  to  the  baron.” 

“ There,  my  friend,”  said  Balsamo ; and  he  gave  him 
the  fifty  francs.  Upon  this  he  dismissed  Gilbert,  and 
with  the  same  slow  and  melancholy  step  returned  to  his 
apartments. 


GILBERT’S  PROJECTS. 


483 


CHAPTER  LII. 

Gilbert’s  projects. 

Once  in  the  street,  Gilbert’s  feverish  imagination  was 
cooled,  which  at  the  last  words  of  the  count  had  carried 
him  beyond  not  only  the  probable,  but  also  the  possible. 
Arrived  at  the  Rue  Pastourel,  he  sat  down  upon  a mile- 
stone, and  casting  his  eyes  about  him  to  assure  himself 
that  he  was  not  watched,  he  drew  from  his  pocket  the 
bank-notes  all  rumpled  by  the  pressure  of  his  hand.  A 
terrible  thought  had  occurred  to  him,  and  brought  the 
perspiration  to  his  brow.  “ Let  us  see,”  he  said,  looking 
at  the  notes,  “ if  this  man  has  not  deceived  me ; let  us 
see  if  he  has  not  set  a trap  for  me  ; let  us  see  if  he  does 
not  send  me  to  certain  death  under  pretence  of  securing 
my  happiness ; let  us  see  if  he  does  not  treat  me  as  they 
do  the  sheep  which  they  allure  to  the  shambles  by  offer- 
ing it  a bunch  of  flowering  herbs.  I have  heard  it  said 
that  there  are  a great  many  false  notes  in  circulation,  with 
which  the  roues  of  the  court  cheat  the  girls  of  the  opera. 
Let  us  see  if  the  count  has  not  taken  me  for  a dupe.” 
And  he  took  out  of  the  roll  one  of  the  notes  of  ten  thou- 
sand francs;  then  going  into  a shop,  he  asked,  showing 
the  note,  the  address  of  a banker  who  would  change  it, 
having  been  charged  with  this  commission  by  his  master, 
he  said. 

The  shop-keeper  looked  at  the  note,  turned  it  over  and 
over  admiringly,  — for  it  was  a magnificent  sum,  and  his 


484 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


shop  was  small ; then  he  directed  him  to  the  banker  in 
the  Rue  Sainte  Avoie,  — therefore  the  note  was  good. 

Gilbert,  happy  and  elated,  gave  reins  to  his  imagina- 
tion, secured  more  carefully  than  ever  the  roll  of  bills  in 
his  handkerchief,  and  noticing  in  the  Rue  Sainte  Avoie  a 
dealer  in  second-hand  clothes  whose  display  attracted  him, 
he  purchased,  for  twenty-five  francs,  — that  is,  for  one  of 
the  twm  louis  Balsamo  had  given  him,  — a complete  suit 
of  maroon  cloth  wThose  neatness  pleased  him,  a pair  of 
black  silk  stockings,  a little  faded,  and  shoes  with  bright 
buckles;  a good  linen  shirt  completed  the  costume,  neat 
rather  than  rich,  at  which  Gilbert  gave  one  admiring 
glance  in  the  mirror  of  the  establishment.  Then,  leaving 
his  old  garments  in  addition  to  the  twenty-five  francs,  he 
put  the  precious  handkerchief  in  his  pocket,  and  went 
from  the  shop  of  the  tailor  to  that  of  the  hair-dresser, 
who  in  a quarter  of  an  hour  made  this  very  remarkable 
head  of  Balsamo’s  protege  elegant,  and  even  beautiful. 

At  last,  when  all  these  operations  had  been  accom- 
plished, Gilbert  bought  a small  loaf  in  a bakers  shop  near 
the  Place  Louis  XV.,  and  ate  it  quickly  as  he  took  the 
road  to  Versailles.  At  the  fountain  of  the  Conference  he 
stopped  to  drink.  Then  he  continued  his  journey,  refus- 
ing every  proposition  of  the  coachmen,  who  could  not 
comprehend  why  a young  man  so  neatly  dressed  should 
wish  to  save  fifteen  sous  at  the  expense  of  his  polished 
shoes.  What  would  they  have  said  if  they  had  known 
that  this  young  man  who  was  travelling  on  foot  had  in 
his  pocket  three  hundred  thousand  francs  'l  But  Gilbert 
had  his  reasons  for  travelling  on  foot,  — in  the  first  place, 
his  firm  resolution  not  to  spend  more  than  was  absolutely 
necessary ; secondly,  the  need  of  seclusion  to  indulge  at 
his  pleasure  in  pantomime  and  monologues.  God  alone 
knows  what  happy  dreams  of  the  future  filled  the  head  of 


GILBERT’S  PROJECTS. 


485 


this  young  man  during  his  walk  of  two  hours  and  a half. 
In  this  time  he  had  walked  more  than  four  leagues  with- 
out noticing  the  distance,  without  feeling  the  least  fatigue, 
so  vigorous  was  his  constitution. 

All  his  plans  were  made,  and  he  had  determined  to 
introduce  his  demand  in  the  following  manner  : To  ap- 
proach Taverney  with  ceremonious  words  ; then,  when  he 
had  the  authority  of  the  baron,  to  address  Mademoiselle 
Andree  with  so  much  eloquence  that  she  would  not  only 
pardon  him,  but  would  conceive  a respect  and  affection  for 
the  author  of  the  pathetic  speech  he  had  prepared.  The 
more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more  hope  triumphed  over  fear ; 
and  it  seemed  impossible  to  Gilbert  that  a girl  in  Andree’s 
position  should  not  accept  the  reparation  offered  by  love, 
when  this  love  was  accompanied  by  a fortune  of  one  hun- 
dred thousand  crowns. 

Gilbert,  in  building  these  castles  in  the  air,  was  as  in- 
nocent and  honest  as  the  most  simple  child  of  primitive 
times.  He  forgot  all  the  wrong  he  had  done,  and  was 
perhaps  more  true-hearted  than  one  would  think.  All 
these  batteries  prepared,  he  arrived  with  anxious  heart  at 
the  grounds  of  Trianon.  Once  there,  he  was  ready  for 
everything,  — for  the  first  wrath  of  Philippe,  which  the 
generosity  of  his  proposal  must,  he  thought,  assuage;  for 
the  first  disdain  of  Andree,  which  must  yield  to  his  love ; 
for  the  first  insults  of  the  baron,  which  his  gold  would 
soothe. 

Indeed,  Gilbert,  quite  removed  from  the  society  in  which 
he  had  lived,  knew  instinctively  that  three  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  in  his  pockets  was  a safe  armor.  What  he 
dreaded  most  was  the  sight  of  Andree’s  sufferings;  in 
presence  of  this  misfortune  only  he  feared  his  weakness,  — 
a weakness  that  would  take  from  him  a part  of  the  means 
necessary  for  the  success  of  his  cause.  He  entered  the 


486 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


gardens,  looking,  not  without  pride,  which  suited  his  face 
well,  upon  all  these  workmen,  yesterday  his  companions, 
to-day  his  inferiors.  The  first  question  he  asked  was  in 
reference  to  the  Baron  de  Taverney.  He  addressed  him- 
self naturally  to  the  lackey  on  service  at  the  offices. 

“ The  baron  is  not  at  Trianon,”  replied  the  latter. 
Gilbert  hesitated  a moment.  “ And  Monsieur  Philippe  ? ” 
he  asked. 

“ Oh,  Monsieur  Philippe  has  gone  away  with  Made- 
moiselle Andree ! ” 

“ Gone  away  ! ” cried  Gilbert. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Mademoiselle  Andree  has  gone,  then  1 ” 

“ Five  days  ago.” 

“ To  Paris  ? " 

The  lackey  made  a movement  as  if  to  say,  “ I know 
nothing  about  it.” 

“ What ! you  know  nothing  about  it  'l  ” cried  Gilbert. 
“ Mademoiselle  Andree  has  gone  away  without  any  one 
knowing  where  she  was  going  ] There  must  be  a reason 
for  her  going  away,  however.” 

“ What  nonsense  ! ” replied  the  lackey,  showing  little 
respect  for  Gilbert’s  maroon  coat ; “ of  course  there  was  a 
cause  for  her  going  away.” 

“ And  why  did  she  go  ] ” 

“ For  change  of  air.” 

“For  change  of  air  'l  ” repeated  Gilbert. 

“ Yes;  it  seemed  that  the  air  of  Trianon  did  not  agree 
with  her,  and  by  the  doctor’s  orders  she  has  left  Trianon.” 
It  was  useless  to  question  further ; it  was  evident  that 
the  lackey  had  said  all  that  he  knew  about  Mademoiselle 
de  Taverney.  And  yet  Gilbert,  amazed,  could  not  believe 
what  he  had  heard.  He  ran  to  Andree’s  chamber,  and 
found  the  door  closed.  Fragments  of  glass,  bits  of  straw 


GILBERT’S  PROJECTS. 


487 


and  hay,  threads  from  the  mattress  strewing  the  floor, 
proved  to  him  plainly  that  there  had  been  a removal. 
Gilbert  entered  his  old  chamber,  which  remained  just  as 
he  had  left  it.  Andree’s  window  was  open  to  admit  air 
to  the  apartment ; he  could  look  through  into  the  ante- 
chamber. The  apartment  was  quite  empty. 

Gilbert  then  gave  way  to  extravagant  grief ; he  beat  his 
head  against  the  wall,  he  wrung  his  hands,  he  rolled  on 
the  floor.  Then  like  a madman,  he  rushed  out  of  the 
garret,  descended  the  stairs  as  if  he  had  wings,  plunged 
into  the  woods,  his  hands  clutching  his  hair,  and  with 
cries  and  imprecations  he  fell  down  in  the  midst  of  the 
bushes,  cursing  life  and  those  who  had  given  him  birth. 

“ Oh,  it  is  over,  all  over  ! ” he  murmured.  “ God  does 
not  wish  me  to  find  her  again ; God  wishes  me  to  die  of 
remorse,  of  despair  and  love.  Thus  I shall  expiate  my 
crime ; thus  I shall  avenge  her  whom  I have  wronged. 
Where  can  she  be  1 At  Taverney  ! Oh,  I will  go,  I will 
go  ! I will  go  even  to  the  end  of  the  world  ; I will  mount 
to  the  clouds,  if  necessary.  Oh,  I will  trace  her,  and  fol- 
low her  even  if  I sink  by  the  way  from  hunger  and 
fatigue  ! ” 

But  relieved  by  degrees  by  this  outburst  of  grief,  Gil- 
bert arose,  breathed  more  freely,  looked  about  him  more 
calmly,  and  continued  at  a slow  pace  his  journey  to  Paris, 
which  he  was  five  hours  in  accomplishing. 

“ The  baron,”  he  said  to  himself,  with  some  show  of 
reason,  “ may  not  have  left  Paris ; I will  speak  to  him. 
Mademoiselle  Andree  has  fled.  Indeed,  she  could  not 
remain  at  Trianon ; but  her  father  must  know  where  she 
has  gone.  , A word  from  him  will  put  me  on  her  track  ; 
and  besides  he  may  recall  his  daughter  if  I can  succeed 
in  satisfying  his  avarice.” 

Gilbert,  strong  in  this  new  idea,  entered  Paris  about 


488 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


seven  o’clock,  — that  is,  at  about  the  hour  when  the  crowd 
in  the  Champs-Elysees  were  enjoying  the  cool  evening  air, 
when  Paris  fluctuated  between  the  early  fogs  of  evening 
and  the  first  rays  of  that  artificial  light  which  extended 
the  day  to  twenty-four  hours. 

The  young  man,  carrying  out  his  resolution,  went  di- 
rectly to  the  door  of  the  little  hotel  in  the  Eue  Coq-Heron, 
and  knocked  without  waiting  a moment.  Silence  only 
answered  him.  He  redoubled  his  knocks,  but  without 
result.  This  last  resource,  then,  upon  which  he  had  re- 
lied, had  failed  him.  Mad  with  rage,  biting  his  hands  to 
punish  his  body  for  suffering  less  than  his  soul,  Gilbert 
quickly  turned  the  corner  of  the  street,  pushed  the  spring 
of  Rousseau’s  door,  and  ascended  the  stairs.  The  hand- 
kerchief which  enclosed  the  thirty  bank-notes  also  held 
the  key  of  the  garret  door.  Gilbert  rushed  in,  as  he 
would  have  thrown  himself  into  the  Seine  if  it  had  been 
there.  Then,  as  the  evening  was  fine  and  the  fleecy  clouds 
were  sporting  in  the  azure  of  the  sky,  as  a sweet  perfume 
rose  from  the  lime  and  chestnut  trees  in  the  evening  twi- 
light, as  the  bat  beat  with  its  silent  wings  on  the  panes 
of  the  little  window,  Gilbert,  recalled  to  life  by  all  these 
sensations,  approached  the  window,  and  seeing  in  the 
midst  of  the  trees  the  pavilion  of  the  garden,  where  once 
he  found  Andree  whom  he  thought  to  be  forever  lost,  his 
heart  was  at  the  point  of  breaking,  and  he  fell  almost 
fainting  on  the  edge  of  the  gutter,  lost  in  vague  and 
stupid  contemplation. 


A VAIN  STRUGGLE, 


489 


CHAPTEE  LIII. 

A VAIN  struggle;  in  which  gilbert  finds  that  it  is 

EASIER  TO  COMMIT  A CRIME  THAN  TO  CONQUER  A 

PREJUDICE. 

As  the  sensation  of  grief  which  had  had  possession  of 
Gilbert  decreased,  his  ideas  became  clearer  and  more  defi- 
nite. In  the  mean  time  the  increasing  darkness  prevented 
him  from  distinguishing  anything ; then  an  unconquerable 
desire  seized  him  to  see  the  trees,  the  house,  the  walks, 
which  the  darkness  blended  into  one  mass,  over  which 
the  air  wandered  as  over  an  abyss.  He  remembered  that 
one  evening,  in  happier  times,  he  had  wished  to  procure 
news  of  Andree,  to  see  her,  to  hear  her  speak  even,  and 
that  at  the  peril  of  his  life,  suffering  still  from  a sickness 
which  followed  the  thirtieth  of  May,  he  had  slid  down  by 
the  gutter-pipe  from  the  second  floor  to  the  bottom,  — 
that  is,  into  the  blessed  garden  itself.  At  that  time  there 
was  great  danger  in  forcing  a way  into  that  house  in  which 
the  baron  lived,  and  where  Andree  was  so  well  guarded  ; 
and  yet  Gilbert  remembered  how  delightful  the  situation 
was,  in  spite  of  its  danger,  and  how  joyously  beat  his 
heart  when  he  heard  the  sound  of  her  voice.  “ What  if 
I should  do  it  again,”  he  said  to  himself ; “ what  if  I 
should  go  once  more,  and  on  my  knees  search  the  sanded 
paths  for  the  adored  footprints  of  my  mistress.” 

This  word  Gilbert  spoke  almost  aloud,  taking  a strange 
pleasure  in  uttering  it.  He  interrupted  his  monologue  to 
look  searchingly  at  the  place  where  he  thought  the  pavilion 


490 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


should  be.  Then,  after  a moment’s  silence  and  investiga- 
tion, “ There  is  no  indication,”  he  added,  “ that  the  pavil- 
ion is  inhabited  by  other  tenants,  — neither  light,  nor 
sound,  nor  open  doors.  I will  go  ! ” 

Gilbert  had  the  merit  of  quickly  putting  into  execution 
a resolution  once  formed.  He  opened  the  door  of  the 
garret,  descended  on  tiptoe  like  a sylph  to  the  door  of 
Rousseau,  and  having  reached  the  second  floor  he  boldly 
seized  the  gutter-pipe  and  slid  to  the  ground,  at  the  risk 
of  ruining  the  pair  of  breeches  new  that  morning.  Having 
reached  the  foot  of  the  trellis  he  experienced  once  more 
all  the  emotions  of  his  first  visit  to  the  pavilion  ; the 
gravel  creaked  under  his  feet,  and  he  recognized  the  little 
door  by  which  Nicole  had  introduced  Monsieur  de  Beau- 
sire.  At  last  he  went  to  the  steps  to  press  his  lips  upon 
the  brass  button  of  the  window-blind,  saying  to  himself 
that  doubtless  Andree’s  hand  had  touched  this  button. 
Gilbert’s  crime  had  turned  his  love  into  a sort  of  religion. 

Suddenly  a sound  from  the  inside  startled  the  young 
man,  — a faint  and  dull  sound  like  that  of  a light  step  on 
the  floor.  Gilbert  retreated.  His  face  was  livid ; and  for 
the  past  eight  or  ten  days  he  had  been  so  distressed  in 
mind  that,  on  seeing  a glimmer  of  light  through  the  door, 
he  thought  that  superstition  — that  daughter  of  ignorance 
and  remorse  — held  before  his  eyes  one  of  her  sinister 
torches,  and  that  it  was  this  torch  which  was  shining 
through  the  slats  of  the  blinds.  He  imagined  that  his 
soul,  laden  with  terror,  conjured  another  soul,  and  that 
one  of  those  hallucinations  which  visit  madmen  or  enthu- 
siasts had  now  come  upon  him.  Nevertheless  the  step 
and  the  light  approached  nearer.  Gilbert  saw  and  heard 
without  belief.  But  the  blind  suddenly  opening,  just 
when  the  young  man  drew  near  to  look  through  the  slats, 
he  was  thrown  by  the  shock  against  the  wall ; he  uttered 


A VAIN  STRUGGLE. 


491 


a loud  cry  and  fell  upon  his  knees.  It  was  not  so  much 
the  shock  which  prostrated  him  thus  as  the  sight  exposed 
to  his  view  ; in  this  house,  which  he  thought  deserted,  at 
the  door  of  which  he  had  knocked  without  answer,  he  had 
just  seen  Andree. 

The  young  girl,  for  it  was  she  and  not  a spirit,  uttered 
a cry  as  Gilbert  had  ; then,  less  frightened,  for  she  doubt- 
less expected  some  one ; “ What  is  it  ] ” she  asked. 
“ Who  are  you  1 What  do  you  want  *?  ” 

“ Oh,  pardon,  pardon,  Mademoiselle  ! ” murmured  Gil- 
bert, his  face  humbly  turned  toward  the  ground. 

“ Gilbert,  Gilbert  here  ! ” cried  Andree,  with  a surprise 
free  from  fear  or  anger  ; “ Gilbert  in  this  garden  ! Why 
have  you  come  here,  my  friend  1 99 

This  last  title  vibrated  painfully  in  the  heart  of  the 
young  man.  “ Oh  ! ” he  said,  with  emotion,  “ do  not  crush 
me,  Mademoiselle ; be  merciful,  I have  suffered  so 
much  ! ” 

Andree  looked  at  Gilbert  in  astonishment,  and  like  a 
woman  who  did  not  understand  such  humility.  “ In  the 
first  place,”  she  said,  “ get  up,  and  explain  to  me  why  you 
are  here.” 

“ Oh,  Mademoiselle,”  cried  Gilbert,  “I  will  not  rise 
until  you  have  pardoned  me  ! ” 

“ What  have  you  done  to  me  that  I should  pardon  you  ? 
Speak,  explain  yourself.  At  all  events,”  she  continued, 
with  a sad  smile,  “as  the  offence  cannot  be  great,  the  par- 
don will  be  easy.  Did  Philippe  give  you  the  key  h ” 

“ The  key  1 ” 

“ Certainly  ; it  was  agreed  that  I should  admit  no  one 
in  his  absence,  and  he  must  have  given  you  the  means  to 
enter,  unless  you  have  climbed  over  the  walls.” 

“Your  brother,  Monsieur  Philippe1?”  stammered  Gil- 
bert. “ No,  no,  it  is  not  he  ; but  never  mind  your  brother, 


492 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Mademoiselle.  You  have  not  gone  away,  then  1 you  have 
not,  then,  left  France  1 Oh,  happiness ! unhoped  for 
happiness ! ” 

Gilbert  had  risen  on  one  knee,  and  with  arms  extended, 
he  returned  thanks  to  Heaven  with  strange  earnestness. 

Andree  leaned  toward  him  and  looking  at  him  uneasily, 
she  said,  “ You  speak  like  a madman,  Monsieur  Gilbert, 
and  you  will  tear  my  dress ; let  go  my  dress,  I beg  you, 
and  put  an  end  to  this  comedy 

Gilbert  rose.  “ You  are  angry,”  he  said  ; “but  I must 
not  complain,  for  I have  deserved  it  well.  I know  that 
I ought  not  to  have  presented  myself  in  this  way ; but  I 
did  not  know  that  you  were  living  in  this  pavilion  ; I 
believed  it  empty,  solitary ; what  I came  to  seek  was  a 
remembrance  of  you,  — nothing  more.  Chance  alone  — 
Indeed,  I no  longer  know  what  I am  saying.  Pardon  me  ; 
I wished  to  speak  first  to  Monsieur  your  father,  but  he 
had  disappeared.” 

Andree  made  a movement.  “ To  my  father,”  she  said  ; 
“ and  why  to  my  father  ? ” 

Gilbert  was  deceived  by  this  reply.  “ Oh,  because  I 
fear  you  too  much,”  he  said ; “ and  yet  I know  very  well 
that  it  is  better  that  everything  should  be  arranged  be- 
tween you  and  me;  it  is  the  surest  way  of  repairing 
all.” 

“ Repairing  ! what  is  that  V ” asked  Andree,  “ and  what 
must  be  repaired  ? Speak  ! 99 

Gilbert  looked  at  her  with  eyes  full  of  love  and  humil- 
ity. “ Oh,  do  not  be  angry,”  he  said  ; “ certainly  it  is  a 
great  boldness  on  my  part,  I who  am  of  so  little  conse- 
quence ; it  was  a great  boldness,  I say,  to  look  so  high,  but 
the  injury  is  done.” 

Andree  started. 

“ The  crime,  if  you  will,”  continued  Gilbert ; “ yes,  the 


A VAIN  STRUGGLE. 


493 


crime,  for  really  it  was  a great  crime.  Well,  of  this  crime 
accuse  fatality,  Mademoiselle,  but  never  my  heart  — ” 

“ Your  heart ! your  crime  ! fatality  ! You  are  mad, 
Monsieur  Gilbert,  and  you  frighten  me.” 

“Oh,  it  is  impossible  that  with  so  much  respect,  so 
much  remorse,  with  bowed  head,  clasped  hands,  I can 
inspire  in  you  any  other  sentiment  than  that  of  pity. 
Mademoiselle,  listen  to  what  I am  about  to  say,  and  it  is  a 
sacred  pledge  I make  before  God  and  men.  I wish  my 
whole  life  to  be  consecrated  to  expiating  the  wrong  of  a 
moment.  I wish  your  future  happiness  to  be  so  great  that 
it  shall  efface  all  the  griefs  of  the  past.  Mademoiselle  — ” 
Gilbert  hesitated.  “ Mademoiselle,  consent  to  a marriage 
which  will  sanctify  a criminal  union.” 

Andree  drew  back  a step. 

“No,  no,”  said  Gilbert ; “ I am  not  a madman  ; do  not 
attempt  to  fly,  do  not  snatch  away  the  hands  which  I 
clasp ; for  pity’s  sake,  consent  to  be  my  wife.” 

“ Your  wife  ] ” exclaimed  Andree,  believing  that  she 
herself  had  become  mad. 

“Oh,”  continued  Gilbert,  with  heart-rending  sobs ; 
“ oh,  say  that  you  pardon  me  that  horrible  night  ; say 
that  my  crime  filled  you  with  horror,  but  say  also  that 
you  forgive  me  ; say  that  my  love,  restrained  so  long,  jus- 
tified my  crime  ! ” 

“ Wretch ! ” exclaimed  Andree,  with  savage  fury,  “ it 
was  you,  then  Oh,  my  God  ! my  God  ! ” and  Andree 
held  her  head  between  her  hands  as  if  to  prevent  the  re- 
volting thought  from  escaping. 

Gilbert  drew  back  silent  and  petrified  before  this  beauti- 
ful and  pale  Medusa’s  face,  which  expressed  both  terror 
and  astonishment. 

“ Was  this  misfortune  reserved  for  me,  my  God  ! ” cried 
the  young  girl,  with  growing  excitement,  “ to  see  my  name 


494 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


doubly  dishonored,  — dishonored  by  the  crime,  dishonored 
by  the  criminal  ] Answer,  wretch  ! answer  villain ! It 
was  you,  then  ? ” 

“She  did  not  know  it!  ” murmured  Gilbert,  astounded. 

“ Help  ! help  ! ” cried  Andr4e,  returning  to  her  apart- 
ment. “ Philippe  ! Philippe  ! here  Philippe  ! ” 

Gilbert,  who  had  followed  her,  gloomy  and  in  despair, 
looked  about  him,  seeking  either  a place  in  which  to  fall 
nobly  under  the  blows  he  expected,  or  something  with 
which  to  defend  himself.  But  no  one  came  at  Andr^e’s 
call ; she  was  alone  in  the  apartment. 

“ Alone!  oh,  alone  ! ” cried  the  young  girl,  in  a burst 
of  rage.  “ Away,  villain  ; do  not  tempt  the  anger  of  God  ! ” 

Gilbert  gently  raised  his  head.  “ Your  anger/’  he  mur- 
mured, “ is  to  me  the  most  fearful  of  all  anger ; do  not 
overwhelm  me,  then,  Mademoiselle,  have  pity ! 99  and 
he  clasped  his  hands  in  supplication. 

“ Assassin  ! assassin  ! ” screamed  the  young  woman. 

“But  you  will  not  hear  me,  then  V9  exclaimed  Gilbert. 
“ Listen  to  me  first  at  least,  and  have  me  killed  afterward, 
if  you  wish.” 

“ Listen  to  you  ! listen  to  you  ! — still  more  torture ; 
and  what  have  you  to  say  ] let  me  hear  ! ” 

“ What  I said  just  now  ; that  I have  committed  a crime, 

— a crime  very  excusable  to  one  who  will  read  my  heart, 

— and  that  I bring  reparation  for  that  crime.” 

“ Oh ! ” cried  Andree,  “ this,  then,  is  the  meaning  of  the 
word  which  horrified  me  even  before  I comprehended  it, — 
a marriage  ! I think  that  was  what  you  said  V9 

“ Mademoiselle  ! ” stammered  Gilbert. 

“ A marriage,”  continued  the  proud  young  girl,  more 
and  more  excited ; “ oh,  it  is  not  anger  I feel  toward  you, 
it  is  scorn,  it  is  hatred  ! with  this  scorn  there  is  a feel- 
ing so  humiliating  and  at  the  same  time  so  appalling  that 


A VAIN  STRUGGLE. 


495 


I do  not  understand  how  any  one  living  can  bear  the 
expression  of  it  as  I fling  it  in  your  face.”. 

Gilbert  turned  pale  ; tears  of  rage  sparkled  on  his  eye- 
lashes ; his  lips  were  pinched,  whitening  like  two  threads 
of  pearl.  “ Mademoiselle,”  he  said,  trembling,  “ I am  not 
of  so  little  consequence  that  I cannot  serve  to  repair  the 
loss  of  your  honor.” 

Andree  drew  herself  up.  “ If  there  were  any  question 
of  the  loss  of  honor,  Monsieur,”  she  said  proudly,  “ it 
would  be  of  your  honor,  not  of  mine.  Such  as  I am,  my 
honor  is  unsullied,  and  it  would  be  in  marrying  you  that 
I should  be  dishonored  ! ” 

“ I did  not  think,”  said  Gilbert,  in  a cold  and  incisive 
tone,  “ that  a woman  when  she  became  a mother  ought  to 
consider  anything  in  the  world  but  the  future  of  her  child.” 

“And  I do  not  suppose  that  you  dare  to  interest  yourself 
in  that,  Monsieur,”  retorted  Andree,  with  sparkling  eyes. 

“ On  the  contrary,  Mademoiselle,  I am  interested  in  it,” 
replied  Gilbert,  beginning  to  rise  from  beneath  the  infu- 
riated foot  that  trampled  on  him.  “ I am  interested,  for  I 
do  not  wish  this  child  to  perish  with  hunger,  as  often  hap- 
pens in  the  houses  of  the  great,  where  girls  interpret  honor 
in  a manner  of  their  own.  All  men  are  equal ; some  of 
the  greatest  men  have  proclaimed  this  maxim.  That  you 
should  not  love  me  I can  conceive,  for  you  do  not  see  my 
heart ; that  you  should  scorn  me  I can  conceive  also,  for 
you  do  not  know  my  thoughts ; but  that  you  should  refuse 
me  the  right  to  be  interested  in  my  child,  I can  never 
understand.  Alas  ! in  seeking  to  marry  you  I have  not 
sought  to  satisfy  a desire,  a passion,  an  ambition  ; I have 
performed  a duty,  I have  devoted  myself  to  be  your  slave, 
I have  offered  you  my  life.  Eh,  mon  Dieu  ! you  would 
never  have  borne  my  name  ; had  you  wished,  you  might 
have  continued  to  treat  me  as  the  gardener  Gilbert ; that 
would  be  just.  But  it  would  not  be  just  for  you  to  sacri- 


496 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


fice  your  child.  Here  are  three  hundred  thousand  francs 
which  a generous  protector,  who  has  judged  me  differently 
from  you,  gives  me  for  a dowry.  If  I marry  you  this 
money  belongs  to  me.  Now,  for  myself,  Mademoiselle,  I 
need  nothing  but  a little  air  to  breathe  if  I live,  and  a hole 
in  the  ground  to  hide  my  body  if  I die.  Everything  else 
I give  to  my  child.  See,  here  are  the  three  hundred  thou- 
sand francs,”  and  he  laid  the  bunch  of  bank-notes  on  the 
table,  almost  under  Andree’s  hand. 

“ Monsieur,”  said  Andrde,  “ you  are  making  a serious 
mistake  ; you  have  no  child.” 

“ n ” 

“ Of  what  child  are  you  speaking,  then  ? ” asked  Andree. 

“ Why,  that  of  which  you  are  the  mother.  Have  you 
not  admitted  in  the  presence  of  two  persons  — your 
brother  Philippe  and  the  Comte  de  Balsamo  — that  you 
were  enceinte,  and  that  it  was  I,  I,  unhappy  — ” 

“ Ah,  you  heard  that  ? ” cried  Andree ; “ well,  so  much 
the  better,  so  much  the  better.  Then,  Monsieur,  this  is 
my  reply  to  you  : You  have  basely  done  me  violence;  you 
have  possessed  me  in  my  sleep  ; you  have  possessed  me  by 
a crime.  I am  a mother,  it  is  true  ; but  my  child  has  only 
a mother,  — do  you  understand  h You  have  violated  me, 
it  is  true ; but  you  are  not  the  father  of  my  child,”  and 
seizing  the  bank-notes  she  threw  them  disdainfully  out  of 
the  room,  in  such  a manner  that  they  touched  in  their 
flight  the  whitening  face  of  the  unhappy  Gilbert.  Then 
he  felt  an  impulse  of  anger  so  profound  that  Andree’s  good 
angel  might  well  have  trembled  for  her  a second  time. 
But  that  fury  was  restrained  by  its  own  violence,  and  Gil- 
bert went  out  from  Andree’ s presence  without  even  looking 
at  her.  He  had  no  sooner  passed  over  the  threshold  than 
she  darted  after  him,  and  closed  doors,  blinds,  windows, 
and  shutters,  as  if  by  this  violent  action  she  would  place 
the  universe  between  the  present  and  the  past. 


RESOLUTION. 


*37 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

RESOLUTION. 

How  Gilbert  returned  to  his  room ; how,  without  expiring 
of  pain  and  anger,  he  sustained  the  anguish  of  the  night ; 
how  he  rose  without  at  least  a blanching  of  his  hair,  — we 
shall  not  attempt  to  explain  to  the  reader. 

When  daylight  came  Gilbert  had  a strong  desire  to  write 
to  Andree  and  state  to  her  all  the  arguments,  so  solid  and 
so  straightforward,  which  had  sprung  up  in  his  mind  dur- 
ing the  night.  But  under  too  many  circumstances  already 
had  he  observed  the  young  girl’s  unbending  character  to 
cherish  now  any  further  hope.  Besides,  to  write  would  be 
a concession  revolting  to  his  pride ; and  his  letter  would 
perhaps  be  crumbled  up  and  thrown  away  without  being 
read  ; it  might  put  upon  his  track  a pack  of  furious,  unin- 
telligent enemies.  He  then  thought  that  his  proposition 
would  perhaps  be  more  favorably  received  by  the  father, 
who  was  avaricious  and  ambitious,  or  by  the  brother,  who 
was  a man  of  heart,  and  whose  first  movement  alone  was 
to  be  feared.  “ But,”  said  he,  to  himself,  “ of  what  use  to 
be  supported  by  Monsieur  de  Taverney  or  by  Monsieur 
Philippe,  since  Andree  will  pursue  me  with  her  eternal  ‘ I 
do  not  know  you’?  It  is  well,”  he  added,  “ nothing  now 
attaches  me  to  that  woman  ; she  herself  has  taken  pains  to 
sunder  the  bonds  that  united  us.”  He  said  this  while 
rolling  with  anguish  on  his  mattress,  while  recalling  with 
rage  the  smallest  details  of  Andree’s  voice  and  face  ; he 
said  this  while  suffering  indescribable  torment,  for  he  loved 
her  to  distraction. 

VOL.  III.  — 32 


498 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


When  the  sun,  already  high  above  the  horizon,  pene- 
trated the  garret,  Gilbert  rose,  excited  by  a last  hope  of 
seeing  his  enemy  in  the  garden  or  even  in  the  pavilion. 
It  was  still  a joy  in  his  misery.  But  suddenly  a bitter 
flood  of  hatred,  remorse,  and  rage  overwhelmed  his  thought ; 
he  recalled  all  the  scorn  and  contempt  which  the  young 
girl  had  inflicted  on  him,  and  stopping  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  by  a command  suddenly  imposed  by  will  on 
matter,  ‘‘  No,”  he  said,  “ you  shall  not  go  to  look  out 
at  that  window ; you  shall  not  inhale  that  poison  of  which 
you  would  be  glad  to  die.  She  is  a cruel  person,  who 
never,  when  you  bowed  your  head  before  her,  smiled  at 
you,  or  gave  you  a word  of  consolation  or  of  friendship ; 
who  took  pleasure  in  rending  your  heart,  when  still  full 
of  innocence  and  chaste  love.  She  is  a creature  without 
honor  and  without  religion,  who  has  denied  to  her  child 
its  father,  its  natural  support,  and  who  condemns  the 
poor  little  thing  to  neglect,  to  misery,  to  death,  perhaps ; 
because  that  child  dishonors  the  womb  in  which  it  was 
conceived.  Well,  no,  Gilbert ; criminal  as  you  were,  amo- 
rous and  base  as  you  are,  I forbid  you  to  approach  that 
window,  or  cast  a glance  in  the  direction  of  that  pavilion. 
I forbid  you  to  commiserate  the  fate  of  that  woman,  or 
to  weaken  the  springs  of  your  life  by  dwelling  on  what  is 
past.  Employ  your  life,  like  the  brute,  in  work  and  the 
satisfaction  of  material  wants.  Make  use  of  the  time  that 
will  elapse  between  the  affront  and  vengeance ; and  re- 
member always  that  the  only  way  to  self-respect  and  to  a 
position  higher  than  that  of  these  haughty  nobles  is  to  be 
more  noble  still  than  they.” 

Pale,  trembling,  urged  by  the  impulses  of  his  heart  in 
the  direction  of  the  window,  Gilbert  nevertheless  obeyed 
the  command  of  his  reason.  He  might  have  been  seen 
moving  little  by  little,  slowly,  step  by  step,  toward  the 


RESOLUTION. 


499 


door  of  the  stairway.  At  last  he  went  out  on  his  way  to 
Balsamo’s  house.  But  suddenly  he  returned,  saying  to 
himself,  “ Fool ! wretched  fool  that  I am  ! I spoke,  I 
think  of  vengeance  ; and  what  is  the  vengeance  I would 
have  ? Kill  the  woman  1 Oh,  no  ; she  would  die  happy 
in  having  inflicted  on  me  an  additional  burden.  Dishonor 
her  publicly  1 Oh,  that  is  a coward’s  way.  Is  there  a 
sensitive  place  in  that  creature’s  soul  where  my  needle 
thrust  may  cause  as  much  pain  as  a thrust  of  a dagger  1 
It  is  humiliation  ; she  must  be  humiliated,  — yes,  for  she 
has  even  more  pride  than  I.  How,  then,  can  I humiliate 
her1?  I am  nothing,  I have  nothing,  and  doubtless  she  is 
about  to  disappear.  To  be  sure,  my  presence,  my  frequent 
appearance,  my  look  of  scorn  or  of  defiance  would  punish 
her  cruelly.  I know  well  that  a mother  without  pity 
must  be  a sister  without  heart,  and  she  might  send  her 
brother  to  kill  me.  But  what  prevents  my  learning  how 
to  kill  a man,  as  I have  learned  how  to  reason  and  to 
write  3 What  prevents  my  overcoming  Philippe,  disarm- 
ing him,  and  laughing  in  the  face  of  the  avenger,  as  in 
that  of  the  offended  person  herself?  No,  that  savors  too 
much  of  comedy ; in  doing  that  one  reckons  on  his  skill 
and  experience,  without  considering  the  intervention  of 
God  or  of  chance.  Alone,  I alone,  with  my  bare  arm, 
with  my  reason  clipped  of  imagination,  with  the  strength 
of  my  muscles  given  by  nature,  "with  the  force  of  my  mind, 
I will  reduce  to  nothing  the  projects  of  those  miserable  — 
What  does  Andree  wish ; what  does  she  possess ; what 
does  she  place  before  her  for  her  defence  and  my  injury  ? 
Let  me  think.” 

Then,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  projection  of  the  wall, 
bending  forward  and  gazing  with  fixed  eyes,  Gilbert  medi- 
tated profoundly.  “ Whatever  might  please  Andree,”  he 
said,  “ is  what  I detest ; I must  therefore  destroy  whatever 


500 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


I detest.  Destroy  ? Oh,  no  ; my  vengeance  must  never 
drive  me  to  evil  deeds  ; it  must  never  persuade  me  to 
use  fire  or  the  sword.  "What,  then,  remains  This  : to 
seek  the  cause  of  Andree’s  superiority,  — to  discover  by 
what  chain  she  will  restrain  at  the  same  time  my  heart 
and  my  arm  — Oh,  to  see  her  no  more  ! — to  be  no  more 
looked  upon  by  her  ! Oh,  to  pass  within  two  steps  of 
that  woman  when,  smiling  with  her  insolent  beauty,  she 
holds  by  the  hand  her  child  — her  child  who  will  never 
know  me  — Heavens  and  earth  ! ” 

Gilbert  accentuated  that  phrase  with  a furious  blow  of 
the  fist  on  the  wall,  and  with  an  oath  more  terrible  still. 
“ Her  child  ! here  is  the  whole  secret.  It  is  not  necessary 
that  she  should  ever  possess  that  child,  whom  she  would 
accustom  to  execrate  the  name  of  Gilbert.  It  is  necessary, 
on  the  contrary,  for  her  to  learn  that  the  child  will  grow 
up  execrating  the  name  of  Andree.  In  a word,  that  child, 
whom  she  would  not  love,  whom  she  would  torture,  per- 
haps, for  she  has  a bad  heart,  — that  child,  with  whom 
they  would  continually  scourge  me,  Andree  must  never 
see,  but,  losing  it,  she  must  rage  and  moan  like  a lioness 
deprived  of  her  young.” 

Gilbert  rose,  handsome  in  his  wrath  and  savage  joy. 
“ That  is  it,”  he  said,  extending  his  fist  toward  Andree’s 
pavilion.  “ You  have  condemned  me  to  shame,  to  loneli- 
ness, to  remorse,  to  love ; I condemn  you  to  suffering 
without  result,  to  loneliness,  to  shame,  to  terror,  to  hate 
without  vengeance.  You  will  seek  for  me,  — I shall  have 
fled.  You  will  cry  out  for  your  child,  if  only  to  tear  it  to 
pieces  on  recovering  it ; but  it  will  be  at  least  a rage  of 
desire  which  I shall  have  kindled  in  your  soul ; it  will  be 
a blade  without  a hilt  which  I shall  have  plunged  into 
your  heart.  Yes,  yes ; the  child ! I shall  have  the 
child,  Andree.  I shall  have,  not  your  child,  as  you  said, 


RESOLUTION. 


501 


but  mine.  Gilbert  will  have  his  child  ! — a child  noble 
on  the  mother’s  side.  My  child  ! — my  child  ! ” and 
gradually  he  excited  himself  to  transports  of  intoxicating 
joy.  “Now,”  said  he,  “ I have  nothing  to  do  with  vulgar 
spite  or  pastoral  lamentation  ; I have  to  do  with  a serious 
undertaking.  There  is  no  longer  any  reason  to  order  my 
eyes  not  to  seek  yonder  pavilion  ; I must  order  all  my 
energy,  all  my  soul,  to  watch,  that  the  success  of  my  en- 
terprise may  be  assured.  I will  watch,  Andree,”  he  said 
solemnly,  and  going  nearer  to  the  window,  “ day  and 
night.  You  will  not  make  a movement  that  I shall  not 
see  ; you  will  not  utter  a cry  of  grief  for  which  I shall  not 
promise  you  a grief  more  bitter  ; you  will  not  exhibit  a 
smile  to  which  I shall  not  reply  by  a sardonic  and  insult- 
ing laugh.  You  are  my  prey,  Andree ; a part  of  you  is  my 
property.  I watch,  I watch  ! ” 

Gilbert  then  went  to  the  window,  and  saw  the  blinds  of 
the  pavilion  opened ; then  Andree’s  shadow  glide  over 
the  curtains  and  the  ceiling  of  the  chamber,  reflected 
doubtless  by  some  mirror.  Presently  Philippe  entered, 
who  had  risen  earlier,  but  who  had  been  at  work  in  his 
own  room,  situated  behind  Andrde’s.  Gilbert  noticed  that 
their  conversation  was  animated.  Doubtless  they  spoke 
of  him,  and  of  the  scene  of  the  evening  before.  Philippe 
walked  about,  showing  signs  of  perplexity.  That  visit 
by  Gilbert  had  perhaps  induced  them  to  modify  their 
plans ; perhaps  they  would  go  away  in  search  of  peace, 
obscurity,  oblivion.  At  that  idea  Gilbert’s  eyes  became 
luminous  rays,  which  might  have  set  fire  to  the  pavilion 
and  penetrated  to  the  centre  of  the  world. 

But  very  soon  a servant-girl  entered  by  the  garden-door ; 
she  brought  a recommendation  of  some  kind.  Andree 
came  to  an  agreement  with  her,  for  she  installed  herself 
at  once,  with  her  little  bundle  of  clothes,  in  the  chamber 


502 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


formerly  occupied  by  Nicole.  Furthermore,  certain  recent 
purchases  of  furniture,  utensils,  and  provisions  satisfied 
the  vigilant  Gilbert  that  the  brother  and  sister  intended 
to  remain  quietly  in  that  habitation. 

Philippe  examined  with  close  scrutiny  the  locks  on  the 
garden-door.  What  especially  convinced  Gilbert  that  he 
was  suspected  of  having  entered  by  using  a false  key, 
given  him  perhaps  by  Nicole,  was  that  the  locksmith,  in 
Philippe’s  presence,  changed  the  wards  of  the  locks.  It 
inspired  Gilbert  with  the  first  joy  he  had  experienced 
since  these  events  began.  He  smiled  ironically.  “ Poor 
creatures  ! ” he  murmured ; “ they  are  not  very  danger- 
ous. They  strengthen  the  lock,  and  do  not  even  suspect 
that  I had  the  daring  to  scale  the  wall.  A poor  idea  they 
have  of  you,  Gilbert ! So  much  the  better.  Yes,  proud 
Andree,  in  spite  of  the  locks  on  your  door,  if  I wished  to 
penetrate  to  you  I could  do  it.  But  it  is  my  turn  for 
good  fortune ; I scorn  you,  and  unless  caprice  — ” He 
pirouetted  on  his  heels,  imitating  the  roues  of  the  court. 
“ But  no,”  he  continued  bitterly,  “ this  is  more  worthy 
of  me  ; I want  no  more  of  you.  Sleep  in  peace ; I have 
what  is  better  than  possession  of  you,  with  which  to  tor- 
ture you  at  my  ease.  Sleep  ! ” 

Gilbert  left  the  window,  and  after  giving  a glance  at 
his  clothes,  he  descended  the  stairs,  and  started  out  to 
visit  Balsamo. 


THE  FIFTEENTH  OF  DECEMBER. 


503 


CHAPTER  LY. 

THE  FIFTEENTH  OF  DECEMBER. 

Gilbert  found  no  difficulty,  as  far  as  Fritz  was  concerned, 
in  being  admitted  to  Balsamo. 

The  count  was  resting  on  a sofa,  like  a rich  and  idle 
man,  from  the  fatigue  of  having  slept  all  night,  — at  least 
so  Gilbert  thought,  seeing  him  lying  there  at  so  early  an 
hour.  The  order  must  have  been  given  to  the  valet  to 
admit  Gilbert  whenever  he  should  present  himself,  for  he 
had  no  occasion  to  give  his  name. 

As  Gilbert  entered,  Balsamo  rose  upon  his  elbow  and 
closed  his  book,  which  he  held  open  without  reading. 
“ Oh,  oh ! ” said  he,  “ here  is  a fellow  who  is  going  to  be 
married.,, 

Gilbert  did  not  answer. 

“ Good  ! ” said  the  count,  resuming  his  indolent  atti- 
tude ; “ you  are  happy  and  almost  grateful.  You  come  to 
thank  me ; it  is  superfluous.  Keep  that,  Gilbert,  for  new 
occasions.  Thanks  are  a currency  which  is  generally  sat- 
isfactory when  bestowed  with  a smile.  There,  my  friend, 
there  ! ” 

There  was  in  these  words  and  in  Balsamo’s  tone  an  ac- 
cent mournful  and  gentle,  which  struck  Gilbert  as  convey- 
ing at  the  same  time  a reproach  and  a revelation. 

“No,”  he  said;  “you  are  mistaken,  Monsieur.  I am 
not  to  marry  at  all.” 

“ Ah ! ” said  the  count,  “ what  are  you  going  to  do  1 
What  has  happened  ? ” 


504 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ I have  been  rejected,”  replied  Gilbert. 

The  count  turned  completely  round.  “ You  have  mis- 
understood, my  friend.” 

“ No,  Monsieur ; I think  not,  at  least.” 

“ Who  rejected  you  1 ” 

“ The  young  lady.” 

“ Of  course  ; why  did  you  not  speak  to  her  father  ? ” 

“ Because  fate  ordered  otherwise.” 

“ Ah,  we  are  fatalist  ? ” 

“ I have  not  the  capacity  for  possessing  faith.” 

Balsamo  frowned,  and  looked  at  Gilbert  with  a sort  of 
curiosity.  “ Do  not  speak  of  things  of  which  you  are 
ignorant,”  he  said ; “ with  men  it  is  stupidity,  with  chil- 
dren it  is  presumption.  I will  permit  you  to  have  pride, 
hut  not  to  be  an  idiot;  tell  me  that  you  have  not  the 
capacity  to  be  a fool,  and  I will  approve.  In  short,  what 
have  you  done  1 ” 

“ This  : Like  the  poets,  I wished  to  dream  instead  of 
act ; I wished  to  walk  in  the  avenues  where  I had  enjoyed 
dreaming  of  love,  and  suddenly  the  reality  presented  itself 
to  me  before  I was  prepared  for  it.  The  reality  killed  me 
at  once.” 

“ Again  it  serves  you  right,  Gilbert ; for  a man  in  such 
a situation  as  yours  resembles  the  scouts  of  the  army. 
Those  men  must  march  with  the  musket  in  the  right 
hand  and  a dark-lantern  in  the  left  hand.” 

“ In  short,  Monsieur,  I have  failed.  Mademoiselle 
Andree  called  me  villain,  assassin,  and  said  that  she 
would  have  me  killed.” 

“ Good  ! but  her  child  ? ” 

“ She  told  me  that  the  child  was  hers,  not  mine.” 

“ What  next  ? ” 

“ Then  I retired.” 

“Ah!” 


THE  FIFTEENTH  OF  DECEMBER. 


505 


Gilbert  looked  up.  “ What  would  you  have  done  ? ” he 
said. 

“ I do  not  know  yet.  Tell  me  what  you  wish  to  do.” 

“ To  punish  her  for  subjecting  me  to  such  humiliations.” 
“ Mere  words,  that.” 

“ No,  Monsieur  ; it  is  a resolution.” 

“ But  you  allowed  her,  perhaps,  to  wrest  your  secret 
from  you,  your  money  1 ” 

“ My  secret  is  my  own,  and  no  one  shall  have  it.  The 
money  is  yours ; I have  brought  it  back,”  and  Gilbert 
opened  his  vest  and  drew  from  it  the  thirty  notes,  which 
he  counted  carefully,  spreading  them  out  on  Balsamous  table. 

The  count  took  them,  folded  them,  all  the  time  watch- 
ing Gilbert,  whose  face  betrayed  not  the  slightest  emotion. 
“ He  is  honest ; he  is  not  covetous.  He  has  sense,  firm- 
ness ; he  is  a man,”  he  thought. 

“Now,  Monsieur  le  Comte,”  said  Gilbert,  “I  have  to 
give  you  an  account  of  the  two  louis  you  gave  me.” 

“ Do  not  overdo  it,”  replied  Balsamo;  “it  is  handsome 
to  return  one  hundred  thousand  crowns  ; it  is  childish  to 
return  forty-eight  francs.” 

“ I did  not  wish  to  return  them ; I only  wished  to  tell 
you  what  I had  done  with  these  louis,  that  you  may  know 
that  I need  others.” 

“ That  is  different.  You  ask,  then  1 ” 

“ I ask.” 

“ For  what  ] ” 

“For  means  to  do  what  just  now  you  called  ‘mere 
words.*  ” 

“ Be  it  so.  You  wish  to  avenge  yourself.” 

“ Nobly,  I think.” 

“ I do  not  doubt  it ; but  cruelly  1 ” 

“Yes,  cruelly.” 

“ How  much  do  you  need  1 ” 


506 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Twenty  thousand  francs/’ 

“And  you  will  not  touch  this  young  woman?”  3aid 
Balsamo,  expecting  to  check  Gilbert  by  this  question. 

“ I will  not  touch  her.” 

“ Her  brother  ? ” 

“Neither  her  brother,  nor  her  father.” 

“ You  will  not  calumniate  her  ? ” 

“ I will  never  speak  her  name.” 

“ Good  ; I understand  you.  But  it  is  equally  as  bad  to 
kill  a woman  with  continual  insults,  as  to  stab  her  with  a 
weapon.  You  wish  to  defy  her  by  showing  yourself,  by 
following  her,  by  heaping  upon  her  smiles  full  of  insult 
and  hatred.” 

“ I have  so  little  desire  to  do  this,  that  I come  to  ask 
for  means  for  crossing  the  sea  without  expense  to  myself, 
in  case  I should  desire  to  leave  France.” 

“ Master  Gilbert,”  exclaimed  Balsamo,  with  eager  and 
caressing  tone,  which  contained  however  neither  grief  nor 
joy,  — “ Master  Gilbert,  it  seems  to  me  that  you  are  not 
consistent  with  your  display  of  disinterestedness.  You 
ask  me  for  twenty  thousand  francs,  and  from  this  sum  you 
cannot  take  one  thousand  for  passage  money  ? ” 

“ No,  Monsieur  ; and  there  are  two  reasons  for  that.” 

“ Let  me  hear  the  reasons  ? ” 

“ In  the  first  place,  I shall  not  have  a farthing  on  the 
day  I embark  ; for  mark  this  well,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  it 
is  not  for  myself  I ask  it,  — I ask  it  for  the  reparation  of  a 
wrong  which  you  facilitated  — ” 

“ Ah,  you  are  tenacious  ! ” said  Balsamo,  with  pinched 
lips. 

“ Because  I am  right.  I ask  you  for  money  for  repara- 
tion, I tell  you,  and  not  for  my  living  or  for  my  own 
comfort.  Not  a sou  of  these  twenty  thousand  francs  will 
touch  my  pocket;  they  have  their  destination.” 


THE  FIFTEENTH  OF  DECEMBER. 


507 


iC  Your  child ; I see  that  — ” 

“ My  child ; yes,  Monsieur,”  replied  Gilbert,  with  a 
certain  pride. 

“ But  yourself ! 99 

“ I am  strong,  free,  and  intelligent ; I can  always  live. 
I wish  to  live.” 

“ Oh,  you  will  live  ! God  never  gives  such  strength  of 
will  to  souls  which  are  to  leave  this  earth  prematurely. 
God  clothes  warmly  the  plants  which  have  to  endure  long 
winters  ; he  gives  armor  of  steel  to  hearts  which  must  bear 
heavy  trials.  But  you  have,  it  seems  to  me,  told  me  of 
two  reasons  for  not  appropriating  one  thousand  francs,  — 
in  the  first  place,  delicacy.” 

“ Secondly,  prudence.  When  I leave  France,  I must 
do  so  secretly.  Now,  I cannot  succeed  in  this,  if  I seek 
out  some  captain  in  the  port,  paying  him  myself,  — for  I 
presume  it  is  done  in  that  way,  — it  is  not,  I say,  by  going 
out  to  sell  myself  that  I shall  succeed  in  hiding  myself.” 

“ Then  you  suppose  that  I can  aid  you  in  disappearing  3 ” 

“ I know  that  you  can.” 

“ Who  told  you  so  'l 99 

“ Oh,  you  have  too  many  supernatural  means  at  your 
disposal  not  to  have  a whole  storehouse  of  natural  means. 
A sorcerer  is  never  so  sure  of  himself  that  he  has  not  some 
haven  of  safety.” 

“ Gilbert,”  said  Balsamo,  suddenly,  extending  his  hand 
to  the  young  man,  u you  are  a bold,  adventurous  spirit ; 
you  are  made  up  of  evil  and  good  like  a woman ; you  are 
stoical  and  unaffectedly  upright,  — I will  make  a very  great 
man  of  you.  Stay  here,  I say  ; this  hotel  is  a safe  asylum  ; 
besides,  I leave  Europe  in  a few  months,  — I will  take  you 
away.” 

Gilbert  listened.  “ In  a few  months  I would  not  de- 
cline your  offer;  but  to-day  I must  say,  Thanks,  Monsieur 


508 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


le  Comte,  your  proposal  is  dazzling  to  a poor  man  ; at  the 
same  time  I refuse  it.” 

“ A moment’s  vengeance  is  worth  more  than  a future 
of  fifty  years,  perhaps  ? ” 

“ Monsieur,  while  my  fancy  or  my  caprice  possesses  me 
it  is  always  worth  to  me  more  than  the  whole  universe ; 
and  besides  vengeance,  I have  a duty  to  fulfil.” 

“ There  are  your  twenty  thousand  francs,”  replied  Bal- 
samo,  without  hesitation. 

Gilbert  took  two  bank-notes,  and  looking  at  his  bene- 
factor, “ You  give  like  a king  ! ” he  said. 

“Oh,  better,  I hope,”  said  Balsamo;  “for  I do  not  ask 
even  to  be  remembered.” 

“ But  I am  grateful,  as  you  said  just  now  ; and  when 
my  task  shall  be  accomplished,  I will  pay  you  these 
twenty  thousand  francs.” 

“ How  can  you  do  that?” 

“ By  putting  myself  in  your  service  for  as  many  years 
as  will  be  required  for  a servant  to  pay  his  master  twenty 
thousand  francs.” 

“ You  are  again  illogical.  Gilbert.  You  said  to  me  a 
moment  ago,  ‘I  ask  you  for  twenty  thousand  francs, 
which  you  owe  me*  ” 

“ That  is  true  ; but  you  have  won  my  heart.” 

“ I am  glad  of  it,”  said  Balsamo,  coldly.  “ So,  you  will 
be  mine,  if  I wish  it  'l  ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ What  do  you  know  how  to  do  ? ” 

“ Nothing;  but  I am  capable  of  everything.” 

“ That  is  true.” 

“ But  I wish  to  have  in  my  pocket  the  means  for  leaving 
France  in  two  hours,  if  necessary.” 

“ Ah,  my  service  is  then  deserted.” 

“ I shall  be  sure  to  return  to  you.” 


THE  FIFTEENTH  OF  DECEMBER. 


509 


“ And  I shall  be  sure  to  find  you  again.  Well,  let  us 
finish ; it  tires  me  to  talk  so  long.  Draw  up  the  table.” 

“ There  it  is.” 

Balsamo  took  from  it  some  papers,  and  began  to  read 
half-aloud  the  following  lines  upon  one  of  the  papers, 
inscribed  with  three  signatures,  or  rather  three  strange 
ciphers : “ ‘ The  fifteenth  of  December,  from  Havre  for 
Boston,  P.  J.  the  Adonis/  What  do  you  think  of  Amer- 
ica, Gilbert  ? ” 

“ That  it  is  not  France,  and  that  I shall  be  very  glad  to 
go  by  sea,  at  a certain  moment,  into  any  country  whatever 
that  is  not  France.” 

“ Good  ! About  the  fifteenth  of  December  ; is  not  that 
the  time  to  which  you  allude  ? ” 

Gilbert  counted  on  his  fingers,  reflecting.  “ Precisely,” 
he  said. 

Balsamo  took  a pen  and  wrote  upon  a fresh  sheet  these 
two  lines,  — 

Receive  upon  the  “ Adonis  ” a passenger. 

Joseph  Balsamo. 

“ But  this  paper  is  dangerous,”  said  Gilbert,  “ and  I 
who  seek  a shelter  may  find  the  Bastille.” 

“By  having  too  much  imagination  one  becomes  absurd,” 
said  the  count.  “The  ‘Adonis/  my  dear  Monsieur  Gil- 
bert, is  a merchant  vessel  of  which  I am  the  principal 
owner.” 

“ Pardon  me,  Monsieur  le  Comte,”  said  Gilbert,  bowing ; 
“ I am  indeed  an  unhappy  fellow  whose  head  is  sometimes 
turned,  — but  never  twice  in  succession.  Pardon  me,  and 
believe  in  my  gratitude.” 

“ Go,  my  friend.” 

“ Adieu,  Monsieur  le  Comte.” 

“ Au  revoir,”  said  Balsamo,  turning  away. 


510 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  LYI. 

THE  LAST  AUDIENCE. 

In  November,  that  is  several  months  after  the  events  we 
have  related  had  taken  place,  Philippe  de  Taverney  went 
out  very  early  in  the  morning,  considering  the  season,  — 
that  is  to  say,  at  daybreak,  — from  the  house  in  which  he 
lived  with  his  sister.  Already  all  the  little  Parisian  indus- 
tries were  astir  under  the  lamps  still  lighted.  There  were 
the  little  smoking  cakes  which  the  poor  merchant  from  the 
country  devours  as  a feast  in  the  keen  morning  air,  the 
trucks  loaded  with  vegetables,  the  carts  full  of  fish  and 
oysters  going  to  market ; and  there  was,  in  all  this  bustle 
of  the  laborious  crowd,  a sort  of  restraint  imposed  upon  the 
workmen  by  respect  for  the  sleep  of  the  rich. 

Philippe  hurried  across  the  populous  and  crowded  quar- 
ter in  which  he  lived,  to  reach  the  Champs-Elys^es,  which 
was  absolutely  deserted. 

The  leaves  were  turning  red  upon  the  tops  of  the  trees  ; 
the  beaten  walks  of  the  Queen’s  Court,  and  the  bowling- 
greens,  abandoned  at  this  hour,  were  hidden  under  a thick 
carpet  of  these  rustling  leaves. 

The  young  man  wras  dressed  like  the  rich  bourgeois  of 
Paris,  in  a coat  with  long  skirts,  in  breeches  and  silk 
stockings ; he  carried  a sword  ; his  carefully  arranged  hair 
indicated  that  he  must  have  been  in  the  hands  of  his  hair- 
dresser long  before  daybreak.  So,  when  Philippe  saw  that 
the  morning  wind  was  deranging  his  hair  and  scattering 
the  powder,  he  threw  a glance  full  of  displeasure  upon  the 


THE  LAST  AUDIENCE. 


511 


avenue  of  the  Champs-Iillysees,  to  see  if  any  of  the 
public  carriages  on  this  route  were  not  already  running. 
Nor  did  he  have  long  to  wait.  A carriage  worn  out,  faded, 
broken,  drawn  by  a starved,  dun  mare,  came  jolting  along 
the  street ; its  driver,  with  a watchful  eye  and  dejected 
expression,  searched  afar  among  the  trees  for  a passenger, 
as  iEneas  watched  for  one  of  his  vessels  on  the  waves  of 
the  sea.  On  perceiving  Philippe  he  applied  his  whip,  and 
the  carriage  came  up  with  the  passenger. 

“Arrange,”  said  Philippe,  “to  have  me  at  Versailles 
at  nine  o’clock  precisely,  and  you  shall  have  half  a 
crown.” 

In  fact,  at  nine  o’clock  Philippe  had  with  the  dauphi- 
ness  one  of  those  morning  audiences  which  she  had  begun 
to  give.  Alert,  and  freeing  herself  from  every  law  of  eti- 
quette, the  princess  was  accustomed  to  inspect  every  morn- 
ing the  work  which  she  was  having  done  at  Trianon ; and 
meeting  on  her  way  the  solicitors  to  whom  she  had  granted 
an  interview,  she  disposed  of  them  rapidly,  with  a presence 
of  mind  and  an  affability  which  did  not  exclude  dignity, 
sometimes  even  haughtiness,  when  she  perceived  that  her 
condescension  was  misconstrued. 

Philippe  had  at  first  resolved  to  make  the  journey  on 
foot,  for  he  was  reduced  to  the  severest  economy ; but  the 
sentiment  of  self-respect,  or  perhaps  only  that  of  the  re- 
spect, which  no  military  man  ever  loses,  for  his  correct 
appearance  in  the  presence  of  a superior,  had  constrained 
the  young  man  to  dispense  with  economy  for  one  day,  that 
he  might  present  himself  properly  at  Versailles.  He  ex- 
pected, indeed,  to  return  on  foot.  So,  on  the  same  step  of 
the  ladder,  starting  from  two  opposite  points,  the  patrician 
Philippe  and  the  plebeian  Gilbert  had,  as  we  may  see, 
come  together. 

Philippe  beheld  again  with  heavy  heart  that  Versailles. 


512 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


still  magical,  where  so  many  golden  and  roseate  dreams 
had  enchanted  him  with  their  promises.  He  beheld  again, 
with  broken  heart,  Trianon,  memorial  of  misfortune  and 
disgrace.  At  nine  o’clock  exactly,  provided  with  his  let- 
ter of  audience,  he  sauntered  in  the  little  walk  near  the 
pavilion.  He  perceived,  at  a distance  of  a hundred  paces, 
the  princess  conversing  with  her  architect,  enveloped  in 
furs  though  the  weather  was  not  cold.  The  young  dauphi- 
ness,  with  a little  hat  in  the  style  of  that  worn  by  the 
ladies  of  Watteau,  was  distinctly  outlined  against  the 
green  hedges.  At  times  the  sound  of  her  silvery  and 
vibrating  voice  reached  Philippe,  and  awakened  in  him 
sentiments  which  ordinarily  efface  all  chagrin  in  a wounded 
heart. 

Several  persons,  favored  like  Philippe  with  an  audience, 
presented  themselves  one  after  another  at  the  door  of  the 
pavilion,  in  the  antechamber  of  which  an  usher  came  to 
seek  them  in  their  turn.  Placed  along  the  course  of  the 
princess,  whenever  she  returned,  with  Mique  upon  her 
footsteps,  these  persons  received  a word  from  Marie 
Antoinette,  or  even  the  special  favor  of  an  exchange  of 
several  words  spoken  privately.  Then  the  princess  would 
wait  for  another  visitor  to  present  himself. 

Philippe  remained  the  last.  He  had  seen  already  the 
eyes  of  the  princess  turning  toward  him,  as  if  she  tried  to 
recognize  him ; then  he  blushed  and  endeavored  to  assume 
in  his  place  a modest  and  patient  attitude.  The  usher 
came  to  him  at  length,  and  asked  if  he  would  not  also  pre- 
sent himself,  since  Madame  la  Dauphin e was  about  to 
go  in,  and  once  having  returned  she  would  receive  no  one. 
Philippe  therefore  went  forward.  The  dauphiness  did  not 
lose  sight  of  him  while  he  advanced  over  that  distance  of 
a hundred  paces,  and  he  chose  the  most  favorable  moment 
to  make  his  respectful  salutation. 


THE  LAST  AUDIENCE. 


513 


The  dauphiness  turned  to  the  usher,  saying,  “ The  name 
of  this  person  who  salutes  ] ” 

The  usher  read  the  letter  of  audience.  “ Monsieur 
Philippe  de  Taverney,  Madame,”  he  replied. 

“ It  is  true,”  said  the  princess ; and  she  looked  at  the 
young  man  with  an  expression  of  interest.  Philippe  stood 
in  an  attitude  of  deference. 

“ Good-day,  Monsieur  de  Taverney,”  said  Marie  Antoi- 
nette ; “ how  is  Mademoiselle  Andree  ] ” 

“ Quite  ill,  Madame,”  replied  Philippe ; “ but  my  sister 
will  be  made  happy  by  this  evidence  of  interest  your 
Highness  deigns  to  show  her.” 

The  dauphiness  did  not  reply.  She  read  the  traces  of 
suffering  on  Philippe’s  pale  and  wasted  features,  and  could 
scarcely  recognize,  in  the  modest  garb  of  a citizen,  that 
handsome  officer  who  had  first  served  her  as  guide  upon 
the  soil  of  France. 

“ Monsieur  Mique,”  said  she,  approaching  the  architect, 
“ we  have,  then,  agreed  concerning  the  ornamentation  of 
the  dancing-hall ; the  grove  in  the  neighborhood  is  al- 
ready decided  upon.  Pardon  me  for  keeping  you  so  long 
in  the  cold.” 

This  was  equivalent  to  a dismissal ; Mique  saluted  and 
went  away.  The  dauphiness  bowed  to  those  persons  who 
still  were  waiting,  and  they  immediately  retired. 

Philippe  understood  that  signal  to  be  addressed  to  him 
as  well  as  to  the  rest,  and  already  his  heart  was  oppressed, 
when  the  dauphiness,  coming  to  him,  said,  “ You  say, 
then,  Monsieur,  that  your  sister  is  ill]  ” 

“ If  not  ill,  Madame,  at  least  drooping.” 

“ Drooping  ! ” cried  the  dauphiness,  with  interest,  — 
“ she,  in  so  good  health  ! ” 

Philippe  bowed.  The  young  princess  cast  at  him  one 
of  those  searching  glances  which,  in  speaking  of  a man  of 
vol.  m.  — 33 


514 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


her  rank,  we  should  call  an  eagle’s  glance.  Then  after  a 
pause,  “ Allow  me  to  walk  a little,”  said  she ; 44  the  wind 
is  chilly.” 

She  advanced  a few  steps ; Philippe  remained  in  his 
place. 

44  What ! you  do  not  follow  me  1 ” said  Marie  Antoi- 
nette, turning. 

Philippe  made  two  bounds,  and  rejoined  her. 

44  Why  have  you  not  sooner  informed  me  of  the  condi- 
tion of  Mademoiselle  Andree,  in  whom  I am  interested  ? ” 

44  Alas  ! ” said  Philippe,  44  your  Highness  has  just  said 
the  word ; your  Highness  was  interested  in  my  sister,  but 
now  — ” 

44 I am  interested  in  her  still,  Monsieur;  and  yet  it 
seems  to  me  that  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  left  my  ser- 
vice unseasonably.” 

44  Necessity,  Madame  ! ” said  Philippe,  in  a low 
voice. 

44  What ! that  word  4 necessity * is  alarming  ; explain 
that  word  to  me,  Monsieur.” 

Philippe  made  no  reply. 

44  Doctor  Louis,”  continued  the  dauphiness,  44  has  stated 
to  me  that  the  air  of  Versailles  was  injurious  to  the  health 
of  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney,  which  might  be  restored  by 
a residence  in  the  family  home.  This  is  all  that  I have 
learned.  Now,  your  sister  paid  me  but  one  visit  before 
her  departure.  She  was  pale ; she  was  sad.  I must  say 
that  she  showed  me  much  devotion  in  that  interview,  for 
she  wept  copiously.” 

44  Sincere  tears,  Madame,”  said  Philippe,  whose  heart 
beat  violently,  44  the  source  of  which  is  not  exhausted.” 

44 1 fancied,”  continued  the  princess,  44  that  your  father 
had  compelled  his  daughter  to  come  to  court,  and  that  the 
child  regretted  your  country  — some  attachment  — ” 


THE  LAST  AUDIENCE. 


515 


“ Madame,”  Philippe  hastened  to  say,  “ my  sister  regrets 
only  your  Highness.” 

“ And  she  suffers  — Strange  illness,  which  the  coun- 
try air  was  to  cure,  and  which  it  aggravates.” 

“ I will  not  longer  deceive  your  Highness,”  said  Philippe ; 
“ my  sister’s  illness  is  a profound  sorrow,  which  has  driven 
her  nearly  to  despair.  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney,  how- 
ever, loves  in  this  world  only  your  Highness  and  myself ; 
but  she  begins  to  prefer  God  to  all  affections.  And  the 
audience  which  I have  had  the  honor  to  solicit,  Madame, 
is  for  the  purpose  of  asking  your  aid  respecting  this  desire 
of  my  sister.” 

The  dauphiness  raised  her  head.  “ She  wishes  to  enter 
the  religious  life,  does  she  not  ] ” 

“ Yes,  Madame.” 

“ And  you  will  suffer  it,  — you,  who  love  that  child  1 ” 

“ I think  I judge  rightly  her  position,  Madame  ; and 
this  counsel  came  from  me.  Still,  I love  my  sister  too 
much  for  this  counsel  to  be  suspected,  and  the  world  will 
not  ascribe  it  to  avarice  on  my  part.  I have  nothing  to 
gain  by  Andree’s  withdrawing  to  a cloister ; neither  of  us 
possesses  anything.” 

The  dauphiness  paused,  and  with  a stealthy  glance  at 
Philippe,  “That  is  what  I was  saying  just  now,  when  you 
would  not  understand  me,  Monsieur ; you  are  not  rich.” 

“ Your  Highness  — ” 

“ No  false  shame,  Monsieur ; the  happiness  of  that  poor 
girl  is  at  stake.  Answer  me  sincerely,  like  an  honest  man, 
— as  I am  sure  you  are.” 

The  brilliant  and  loyal  eyes  of  Philippe  met  the  gaze  of 
the  princess,  and  were  not  lowered.  “ I will  reply,  Ma- 
dame,” he  said. 

“ Well,  is  it  through  necessity  that  your  sister  wishes 
to  leave  the  world  1 Let  her  speak.  Good  God  ! princes 


516 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


are  unfortunate.  God  has  given  them  hearts  to  pity  the 
suffering;  hut  he  has  refused  them  that  supreme  clear- 
sightedness which  can  discover  suffering  under  the  veil  of 
reserve.  Answer,  then,  frankly  ; is  that  it  % ” 

“No,  Madame,”  said  Philippe,  with  firmness,  “it  is  not 
that ; nevertheless,  my  sister  wishes  to  enter  the  convent 
of  Saint  Denis,  and  we  have  but  a third  of  the  entrance- 
money.” 

“ The  entrance-money  is  sixty  thousand  francs  ! ” cried 
the  princess ; “ you  have,  then,  only  twenty  thousand 
francs  t ” 

“ Hardly  that,  Madame ; but  we  know  that  your  High- 
ness can,  by  a word,  and  without  opening  your  purse,  give 
admission  to  the  convent.” 

“ Certainly  I can.” 

“ This,  then,  is  the  single  favor  which  I shall  venture 
to  solicit  from  your  Highness,  unless  you  have  already 
promised  to  some  one  else  your  intercession  with  Madame 
Louise.” 

“ Colonel,  you  surprise  me  strangely,”  said  Marie  Antoi- 
nette. “ What ! so  near  to  me  I have  so  much  noble 
poverty  ! Eh,  Colonel,  you  should  not  thus  have  de- 
ceived me.” 

“ I am  not  colonel,  Madame,”  replied  Philippe,  gently ; 
“ I am  only  your  Highness’s  devoted  servant.” 

“ Not  colonel,  you  say  1 And  since  when  ? ” 

“ I have  never  been  colonel,  Madame.” 

“ The  king  promised  in  my  presence  a regiment  — ” 

“ The  commission  for  which  was  never  sent.” 

“ But  you  had  a rank  — ” 

“Which  I have  resigned,  Madame,  having  fallen  into 
disgrace  with  the  king.” 

“ Why  % ” 

“ I do  not  know.” 


THE  LAST  AUDIENCE. 


517 


“ Oh ! 99  said  the  dauphiness,  with  deep  sadness,  — “ oh, 
the  court ! ” 

Philippe  smiled  sorrowfully.  “You  are  an  angel  from 
heaven,  Madame,”  he  said ; “and  I regret  not  serving  the 
house  of  France,  that  I might  have  an  opportunity  of 
dying  for  you.” 

A light  so  vivid  and  so  warm  came  into  the  eyes  of  the 
dauphiness  that  Philippe  hid  his  face  in  his  hands.  The 
princess  did  not  even  try  to  console  him,  or  to  draw  from 
him  the  sentiment  that  overpowered  him  at  that  moment. 
Silent,  and  breathing  with  effort,  she  picked  the  petals 
of  some  Bengal  roses,  plucked  from  their  stem  by  her 
nervous  and  trembling  hand. 

Philippe  recovered  himself.  “ Pardon  me,  Madame,” 
he  said. 

Marie  Antoinette  did  not  reply  to  these  words.  “ Your 
sister  will  enter  Saint  Denis  to-morrow,  if  she  wishes,”  she 
said,  with  feverish  excitement ; “ and  you  in  a month  will 
be  at  the  head  of  a regiment.  I am  determined.” 

“ Madame,”  replied  Philippe,  “ will  you  still  have  the 
goodness  to  hear  me  in  my  last  explanations  ? My  sister 
accepts  the  gift  of  your  Boyal  Highness  ; as  for  myself,  I 
must  refuse  it.” 

“You  refuse  ? 99 

“ Yes,  Madame  $ I have  received  an  affront  from  the 
court ; the  enemies  who  have  inflicted  it  on  me  would  find 
a way  to  wound  me  more  severely,  on  seeing  me  in  higher 
station.” 

" What ! even  under  my  protection  ? ” 

“ Especially  because  of  your  gracious  protection,  Ma- 
dame,” said  Philippe,  resolutely. 

“ It  is  true,”  said  the  princess,  turning  pale. 

“ And  then,  Madame,  — no,  I forget,  in  speaking  with 
you,  that  there  is  no  more  happiness  on  earth ; I forget 


518 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN 


that  once  entered  into  obscurity,  I must  no  more  leave  it. 
In  obscurity  a man  of  heart  prays  and  remembers.” 

Philippe  pronounced  these  words  with  an  accent  that 
made  the  princess  start.  “ A day  will  come,”  said  she, 
“ when  I shall  have  the  right  to  say  what  now  I can  only 
think.  Monsieur,  your  sister  may  enter  at  Saint  Denis 
whenever  she  pleases.” 

“ Thanks,  Madame,  thanks.” 

“ As  to  yourself  — I wish  you  to  make  me  a request.” 

“ But,  Madame  — ” 

“ I wish  it.” 

Philippe  saw  the  gloved  hand  of  the  princess  extended 
toward  him ; it  remained  suspended,  as  if  in  expectation, 
perhaps  it  expressed  only  command.  The  young  man 
knelt,  took  the  hand,  and  slowly,  with  a swelling  and 
palpitating  heart  touched  it  with  his  lips. 

“ The  request ! come  ! ” said  the  dauphiness,  so  moved 
that  she  did  not  withdraw  her  hand. 

Philippe  bowed  his  head.  A flood  of  bitter  thoughts 
overwhelmed  him.  He  remained  some  seconds  silent  and 
motionless  ; then,  rising,  pale  and  dull-eyed,  “ A passport 
to  leave  Prance,”  said  he,  “ the  day  my  sister  enters  the 
convent  of  Saint  Denis.” 

The  dauphiness  recoiled  as  if  terrified.  Then,  seeing  all 
that  grief,  which  doubtless  she  comprehended,  which  per- 
haps she  shared,  she  could  reply  only  by  the  words,  hardly 
intelligible,  “ It  is  well.”  And  she  disappeared  in  an 
avenue  of  cypress-trees,  the  only  ones  that  had  preserved 
intact  their  everlasting  leaves,  a mantle  of  the  tomb. 


THE  CHILD  WITHOUT  A FATHER. 


519 


CHAPTER  LVIL 

THE  CHILD  WITHOUT  A FATHER. 

The  day  of  pain,  the  day  of  shame  drew  near.  Andree, 
notwithstanding  the  visits,  more  and  more  frequent,  of 
the  good  Doctor  Louis,  notwithstanding  the  affectionate 
care  and  consolations  of  Philippe,  became  continually 
more  depressed,  like  the  condemned  whose  last  hour 
approaches.  The  unhappy  brother  sometimes  found 
Andree  dreamy  and  trembling  ; her  eyes  were  dry  ; for 
whole  days  she  would  not  speak ; then  suddenly  she 
would  rise  and  make  several  turns  around  her  chamber, 
trying,  like  Dido,  to  get  away  from  herself,  — that  is  to 
say,  from  the  sorrow  that  was  killing  her. 

At  length,  seeing  her  one  evening  paler,  more  uneasy, 
more  nervous  than  usual,  Philippe  sent  for  the  doctor  to 
come  at  once.  It  was  the  twenty-ninth  of  November.  Phi- 
lippe had  had  the  art  to  keep  Andree  sitting  up  until  a 
late  hour ; he  had  entered  with  her  upon  subjects  of  con- 
versation the  most  gloomy,  the  most  intimate,  those  even 
which  the  young  girl  dreaded,  as  the  wounded  man  dreads 
a rough  and  heavy  hand  approaching  his  wound.  He  was 
sitting  near  the  fire.  The  servant,  on  starting  for  Ver- 
sailles to  get  the  doctor,  had  forgotten  to  close  the  blinds, 
so  that  the  reflection  of  the  lamp,  that  of  the  fire  even, 
cast  a soft  light  on  the  carpet  of  snow  thrown  on  the  soil 
of  the  garden  by  the  first  frosts  of  winter. 

Philippe  waited  till  Andree’s  mind  began  to  grow  calm, 
and  then,  without  preamble,  “ Dear  sister,”  he  said,  u have 
you  at  last  come  to  a decision  1 ” 


520 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ On  what  subject  ? ” replied  Andree,  with  a sigh  of 
pain. 

“ On  the  subject  — of  your  child,  sister.” 

Andree  started. 

“ The  time  approaches/’  continued  Philippe. 

“ My  God  ! ” 

“ And  I should  not  be  surprised  if  to-morrow  — 99 

“ To-morrow  ? 99 

“To-day,  even,  dear  sister.” 

Andree  became  so  pale  that  Philippe,  alarmed,  took  hold 
of  her  and  kissed  her  hand.  She  presently  recovered, 
“Brother,”  she  said,  “I  will  not  practise  toward  you  the 
hypocrisies  which  dishonor  vulgar  souls.  Expectation  of 
good  is  in  my  mind  confounded  with  expectation  of  evil. 
What  is  evil  I no  longer  know,  since  I have  lost  con- 
fidence in  what  is  good.  So  do  not  judge  me  more 
severely  than  one  would  judge  a foolish  person,  — unless 
you  prefer  to  take  seriously  the  philosophy  which  I am 
about  to  outline  to  you,  and  which,  I assure  you,  is  the 
perfect,  consummate  expression  of  my  sentiments  as  I 
gather  it  from  my  experience.” 

“ Whatever  you  may  say,  Andree,  whatever  you  may 
do,  you  will  always  be  to  me  the  dearest,  the  most 
respected  of  women.” 

“ Thank  you,  my  only  friend.  I dare  to  say  that  I am 
not  unworthy  of  what  you  promise  me.  I am  a mother, 
Philippe ; but  God  has  appointed,  — I think  so,  at  least,” 
she  added,  blushing,  — “ that  maternity  should  be,  with 
the  creature,  a state  analogous  to  that  of  fructification  in 
the  plant.  The  fruit  comes  only  after  the  flower.  In  the 
flowering  the  plant  is  prepared,  transformed ; for  the 
flowering,  according  to  my  idea,  is  love.” 

“ You  are  right,  Andree.” 

“ I,”  continued  the  young  girl,  quickly,  — “I  have  known 


THE  CHILD  WITHOUT  A FATHER. 


521 


neither  preparation  nor  transformation ; I am  an  anomaly. 
I have  not  loved,  I have  not  desired ; my  mind  and  heart 
are  as  virginal  as  my  body  ; and  yet,  sad  prodigy  ! what 
I have  not  desired,  what  I have  not  even  dreamed  of,  God 
sends  me,  — he  who  has  never  given  fruit  to  the  tree 
created  to  be  sterile.  Where  in  me  are  the  aptitudes,  the 
instincts;  where  are  the  resources,  even1?  The  mother 
who  suffers  the  pains  of  confinement  knows  and  under- 
stands her  lot ; I — I know  nothing.  I tremble  at 
thought ; I go  to  that  last  day  as  I would  go  to  the 
scaffold.  Philippe,  I am  accursed.” 

“ Andree,  sister  ! ” 

“ Philippe,”  she  resumed  vehemently,  “ do  I not  well 
know  that  I hate  that  child  1 Oh,  yes  ! I hate  it ! I 
shall  remember  all  my  life,  if  I live,  Philippe,  the  day 
when  for  the  first  time  the  mortal  enemy  I bear  stirred 
within  me.  I shudder  yet  as  I remember  how  that  move- 
ment, so  sweet  to  mothers,  of  the  innocent  creature  kin- 
dled in  my  blood  a fever  of  wrath,  and  brought  blasphemy 
to  my  lips,  till  then  so  pure.  Philippe,  I am  a bad  mother ; 
Philippe  I am  accursed  ! ” 

“In  the  name  of  Heaven,  dear  Andree,  calm  yourself. 
Let  not  your  mind  lead  your  heart  astray.  That  child  is 
your  life,  your  blood  ; I love  it,  because  it  comes  from  you.” 

“ You  love  it ! ” she  exclaimed,  furious  and  livid  ; “ you 
dare  to  tell  me,  me,  that  you  love  my  dishonor  and  your 
own  ! you  dare  to  tell  me  that  you  love  that  memorial  of  a 
crime,  that  representation  of  the  base  criminal ! Well, 
Philippe,  I am  not  base,  I am  not  false  ; I hate  the  child 
because  it  is  not  my  child,  and  I have  not  called  it.  I 
execrate  it  because  it  will,  perhaps,  resemble  its  father. 
Its  father  ! — Oh  ! I shall  die  some  day  in  pronouncing 
that  horrible  word  ! My  God  ! ” she  cried,  falling  to  her 
knees  on  the  floor,  “ I cannot  kill  that  child  at  its  birth, 


522 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


for  thou  dost  give  it  life.  I could  not  kill  myself  while  I 
bore  it,  for  thou  hast  forbidden  suicide  as  well  as  murder. 
But  I pray  thee,  I beseech  thee,  I implore  thee,  if  thou  art 
just,  my  God,  if  thou  carest  for  the  miseries  of  this  world, 
if  thou  hast  not  decreed  that  I shall  die  of  despair  after 
having  lived  in  disgrace  and  tears,  — my  God,  take  back 
that  child  ! My  God,  kill  that  child ! My  God,  deliver 
me  ! avenge  me  ! ” Terrible  with  rage,  and  grand  in  move- 
ment,  she  struck  her  forehead  against  the  marble  chimney- 
piece  in  spite  of  Philippe’s  efforts,  who  pressed  her  in  his 
arms.  Suddenly  the  door  opened ; the  servant  returned, 
conducting  the  doctor,  who  at  the  first  glance  understood 
the  whole  scene. 

“ Madame,”  said  the  doctor,  with  that  professional  quiet 
which  always  imposes  restraint  or  submission,  “ do  not 
aggravate  the  pains  of  this  labor  which  is  now  approach- 
ing. You,”  he  said  to  the  servant,  “ prepare  everything 
as  I told  you  on  the  way.  You,”  speaking  to  Philippe, 
“ will  be  more  reasonable  than  Madame,  and  instead  of 
sharing  her  fears  and  her  weakness,  you  will  add  your 
encouragements  to  mine.” 

Andree  rose  almost  ashamed.  Philippe  led  her  to  an 
armchair.  The  patient  then  turned  red  and  threw  herself 
back  in  a painful  convulsion ; her  clenched  hands  clung 
to  the  fringes  of  the  chair,  and  the  first  cry  issued  from 
her  violet  lips. 

“ That  sorrow,  that  fall,  that  anger,  have  hastened  the 
crisis,”  said  the  doctor ; “ withdraw  to  your  chamber,  Mon- 
sieur de  Taverney,  and  — courage  ! ” 

Philippe,  with  swelling  heart,  rushed  to  Andree,  who 
had  heard,  who  trembled,  and  who,  rising  in  spite  of  her 
pain,  threw  her  arms  around  her  brother’s  neck.  She 
embraced  him  closely,  kissed  his  cold  cheek,  and  said  in  a 
low  voice,  “ Adieu ! adieu ! adieu ! ” 


THE  CHILD  WITHOUT  A FATHER. 


523 


“ Doctor  ! Doctor  ! ” cried  Philippe,  in  despair  ; “ do 
you  hear  ! ” 

Louis  separated  the  unhappy  couple  with  gentle  force, 
replaced  Andree  in  the  easy  chair,  conducted  Philippe  to 
his  chamber,  and  bolted  the  door  which  separated  it  from 
Andr^e’s  room ; then  closing  curtains  and  doors,  he 
shrouded  thus  the  scene  which  was  about  to  take  place  be- 
tween the  physician  and  the  woman,  between  God  and  both. 

At  three  o’clock  in  the  morning  the  doctor  opened  the 
door  behind  which  Philippe  wept  and  prayed.  “ Your 
sister  has  given  birth  to  a son,”  he  said. 

Philippe  clasped  his  hands. 

“Do  not  come  in,”  said  the  doctor;  “she  is  asleep.” 

“ She  sleeps  — Oh,  Doctor  ! is  it  really  true  that  she 
sleeps  'l  ” 

“ If  it  were  otherwise,  Monsieur,  I should  say  to  you  : 
Your  sister  has  given  birth  to  a son,  but  that  son  has  lost 
his  mother.  Look,  then.” 

Philippe  put  his  head  through  the  door. 

“ Listen  to  her  breathing.” 

“ Yes  ! oh,  yes  ! ” murmured  Philippe,  embracing  the 
doctor. 

“ Now,  you  know  that  we  have  engaged  a nurse.  In 
passing  the  Point-du-Jour,  where  that  woman  lives,  I noti- 
fied her  to  be  ready.  But  you  alone  can  bring  her ; take 
advantage,  then,  of  the  patient’s  sleep,  and  set  off  with  the 
carriage  in  which  I came.” 

“ But  you,  Doctor,  you  'l  ” 

“ I have  in  the  Place  Eoyale  a patient  very  ill  with 
pleurisy.  I will  finish  the  night  at  his  bedside.” 

“ The  cold,  Doctor  — ” 

“ I have  my  cloak.” 

“ The  town  is  not  very  safe.” 

“ Twenty  times  in  twenty  years  I have  been  stopped  by 


524 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


night.  I have  always  replied  : ‘ My  friend,  I am  a physi- 
cian, on  my  way  to  a patient.  Do  you  wish  for  my  cloak  1 
Take  it ; but  do  not  kill  me,  for  without  me  my  patient 
may  die.’  And  observe,  Monsieur,  this  cloak  has  seen 
twenty  years*  service.  The  thieves  have  always  left  it  to 
me.” 

“ Good  doctor  — To-morrow,  is  it  not?” 

“ To-morrow,  at  eight  o’clock,  I shall  be  here  ? ” 

The  doctor  directed  the  servant  to  perform  certain  ser- 
vices, and  bestow  careful  attention  on  the  patient.  He 
wished  the  child  to  be  placed  by  its  mother’s  side.  Phi- 
lippe begged  him  to  remove  it,  recalling  his  sister’s  last 
words. 

Louis  therefore  placed  the  child  in  the  servant’s  chamber, 
and  then  departed  by  way  of  the  Rue  Montorgueil,  while 
the  carriage  took  Philippe  in  the  direction  of  Roule.  The 
servant  fell  asleep  in  the  easy  chair  near  her  mistress. 


THE  ABDUCTION. 


525 


CHAPTER  LYIII. 

THE  ABDUCTION. 

In  the  intervals  of  the  refreshing  sleep  that  follows  great 
fatigue,  the  mind  seems  to  acquire  a double  force,  — the 
faculty  of  appreciating  the  comfort  of  the  situation,  and 
the  faculty  of  watching  over  the  body  in  its  prostration. 

Andree,  returning  to  a consciousness  of  life,  opened 
her  eyes  and  saw  at  her  side  the  sleeping  servant.  She 
heard  the  joyous  crackling  on  the  hearth,  and  wondered  at 
the  silence  of  the  chamber  where  everything  was,  like 
herself,  in  repose.  This  consciousness  was  not  that  of 
complete  wakefulness,  nor  was  it  a dream.  Andree  took 
pleasure  in  prolonging  that  state  of  indecision,  of  soft 
somnolence ; she  suffered  ideas  to  spring  up  one  after  an- 
other in  her  tired  brain,  as  if  she  feared  the  sudden  inva- 
sion of  reason  in  its  completeness.  Suddenly  a cry,  distant, 
feeble,  hardly  heard,  reached  her  ear  through  the  thickness 
of  the  partition.  This  noise  again  produced  in  Andree 
the  trembling  from  which  she  had  suffered  so  much.  It 
brought  back  to  her  that  feeling  of  hatred  which  for  some 
months  had  troubled  her  innocence  and  her  kindness,  as 
a shock  disturbs  a liquid  in  a vessel  in  which  dregs  are 
sleeping. 

From  this  moment  there  was  for  Andree  no  more  sleep 
nor  repose;  she  remembered, — she  hated.  But  the  force 
of  sensations  is  commonly  in  proportion  to  corporeal 
strength.  Andree  no  longer  had  the  vigor  she  had  mani- 


526 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


fested  in  the  scene  with  Philippe  the  evening  before.  The 
cry  of  the  child  reached  her  brain,  first  as  a pain,  and  then 
as  an  annoyance.  At  length  she  asked  herself  if  Philippe, 
in  removing  that  child,  with  his  usual  consideration,  had 
not  been  the  executor  of  a will  somewhat  cruel. 

The  thought  of  the  evil  we  wish  to  any  creature  is  not 
so  repulsive  as  the  sight  of  it.  Andree,  who  execrated  that 
child  when  an  invisible  idea,  who  had  even  desired  its 
death,  was  hurt  at  hearing  the  unfortunate  being  cry 
“ He  is  suffering,”  she  thought.  And  then  she  replied  to 
herself,  “ Why  should  I be  concerned  for  his  sufferings,  — 
I,  the  most  miserable  of  living  creatures  1 ” 

The  child  uttered  another  cry,  louder  and  more  painful. 
Andree  then  perceived  that  this  voice  awoke  in  her,  as  it 
were,  a troubled  voice,  and  felt  her  heart  drawn  as  by  an 
invisible  chain  toward  the  abandoned,  crying  child.  That 
of  which  the  young  girl  had  felt  the  want  was  now  realized 
in  her.  Nature  had  accomplished  one  of  its  preparations. 
Physical  pain,  that  strong  tie,  had  bound  the  mothers 
heart  to  the  slightest  movement  of  her  child. 

“ It  must  not  be,”  thought  Andree,  “ that  this  poor 
orphan  cries  to  Heaven  for  vengeance  against  me.  God 
has  given  to  these  little  creatures,  hardly  born,  the  most 
eloquent  of  voices.  One  may  kill  them,  — that  is,  put 
them  out  of  suffering ; but  one  has  no  right  to  inflict  pain 
upon  them.  If  we  had  that  right,  God  would  not  have 
permitted  them  to  cry  so.” 

Andree  raised  her  head,  and  tried  to  call  her  servant ; 
but  her  feeble  voice  could  not  arouse  the  robust  peasant. 
The  child  had  ceased  crying. 

“ Doubtless,”  thought  Andree,  “ the  nurse  has  arrived  ; 
I heard  the  noise  of  the  outer  door.  Yes,  some  one  is 
moving  in  the  next  room  ; and  the  little  creature  no  longer 
cries.  The  care  of  a stranger  is  already  extended  over  it, 


THE  ABDUCTION. 


527 


and  reassures  its  unformed  intelligence.  Oh,  she,  then, 
is  the  mother  who  takes  care  of  the  child  ! For  a few 
crowns  the  child  born  of  my  body  will  find  a mother.  And 
later,  passing  near  me  who  have  suffered  so  much,  near  me 
whose  life  has  produced  its  own,  that  child  will  not  look 
at  me ; it  will  say  ‘ mother 9 to  a mercenary  more  generous 
in  her  hired  love  than  I in  my  just  resentment.  That 
shall  not  be.  I have  suffered  ; I have  purchased  the  right 
to  look  on  the  face  of  that  child  ; I have  the  right  to  com- 
pel it  to  love  me  for  my  care,  to  respect  me  for  my  sac- 
rifice and  my  sorrow.”  She  made  a more  determined 
effort,  summoned  all  her  forces,  and  called,  “ Marguerite  1 
Marguerite ! ” 

The  servant  awoke  lazily,  and  without  moving  from  her 
easy  chair,  to  which  she  was  bound  by  a heaviness  almost 
lethargic. 

“ Do  you  hear  me  ? 99  said  Andree. 

“Yes,  Madame,  yes,”  said  Marguerite,  coming  to  her 
senses.  And  she  approached  the  bed.  “ Madame  wishes 
to  drink  ? ” 

“No.” 

“ Madame  perhaps  wishes  to  know  what  time  it 
is?” 

“ No,  no,”  replied  Andree,  looking  steadily  at  the  door 
of  the  next  chamber. 

“ Ah,  I understand ; Madame  wishes  to  know  if 
Monsieur  her  brother  has  returned.” 

Andree  struggled  against  her  desire  with  all  the  weak- 
ness of  a proud  soul,  with  all  the  energy  of  a warm  and 
generous  heart. 

“ I wish,”  she  stammered  at  length,  — “I  wish  — Open 
that  door,  Marguerite.” 

“Yes,  Madame — Ah,  how  cold  it  is  there!  Tim 
wind,  Madame,  — what  a wind  ! ” 


528 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


The  wind  in  fact  came  into  Andree’s  chamber,  and  shook 
the  flame  of  the  candles  and  of  the  night-lamp. 

“ It  is  the  nurse,  who  has  left  open  a door  or  a window. 
See,  Marguerite,  see ! That  child  must  be  cold.” 

Marguerite  turned  toward  the  adjoining  chamber.  “ I 
will  go  and  cover  him  up,  Madame,”  she  said. 

“ No,  no  ! ” murmured  Andree,  with  a feeble  and  broken 
voice  ; “ bring  it  to  me.” 

Marguerite  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  chamber. 
“ Madame,”  she  said  softly,  “ Monsieur  Philippe  expressly 
directed  the  child  to  be  left  there,  — fearing,  no  doubt, 
that  Madame  might  be  disturbed  or  excited.” 

“ Bring  me  my  child  ! ” cried  the  young  mother,  with  a 
burst  that  might  have  broken  her  heart ; for  from  her  eyes, 
which  had  continued  dry  in  the  midst  of  her  sufferings, 
issued  tears  on  which  must  have  smiled,  in  heaven,  the 
protecting  angels  of  little  children. 

Marguerite  hastened  into  the  chamber.  Andree,  sitting 
up,  hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  The  servant  returned 
immediately,  with  a look  of  stupefaction. 

“ Well  ? ” said  Andree. 

“ Well  — Madame  — some  one,  then,  has  come  ? ” 

“ What,  — some  one  ? Who  ? ” 

“ Madame,  the  child  is  no  longer  there.” 

“ Indeed,  I heard  a noise  a little  while  ago,”  said 
Amdrde,  — “ steps  ; the  nurse  must  have  come  while  you 
were  asleep,  — she  did  not  wish  to  wake  you.  But  where 
is  my  brother  ? Look  in  his  chamber.” 

Marguerite  ran  to  Philippe’s  room.  No  one  there  ! 

“ It  is  strange,”  said  Andree,  anxiously ; “ can  he  have 
gone  out  again  without  seeing  me  ? ” 

“Ah,  Madame  !”  cried  the  servant. 

“What  is  it?” 

“The  street-door  was  just  opened.” 


THE  ABDUCTION. 


529 


“ Look  ! look  ! ” 

“ It  is  Monsieur  Philippe  returning.  Enter,  Monsieur, 
enter.” 

Philippe,  in  fact,  entered.  Behind  him  a peasant  woman, 
enveloped  in  a thick  cloak  of  striped  wool,  bestowed  upon 
the  house  that  benevolent  smile  with  which  the  hireling 
welcomes  every  new  connection. 

“ Sister,  sister,  I am  here,”  said  Philippe,  coming  into 
the  chamber. 

“ Dear  brother  ! what  troubles,  what  sorrows  I cause 
you  ! Ah,  here  is  the  nurse ; I was  so  afraid  she  had 
gone  — ” 

“ Gone  1 she  has  just  come.” 

“ Has  returned,  you  mean.  No ; I heard  her  plainly  a 
little  while  ago,  softly  as  she  walked.” 

“ I don’t  understand  you,  sister ; no  one  — ” 

“Oh,  I thank  you,  Philippe,”  said  Andree,  drawing 
him  to  her,  and  accenting  each  word,  — “I  thank  you  for 
having  understood  me  so  well  that  you  would  not  take 
away  that  child  till  I had  seen  it  — kissed  it.  Philippe, 
you  have  well  read  my  heart.  Yes,  yes;  be  tranquil,  I 
shall  love  my  child.” 

Philippe  seized  Andree’s  hand,  and  covered  it  with 
kisses. 

“ Tell  the  nurse  to  restore  it  to  me,”  added  the  young 
mother. 

“ But,  Monsieur,”  said  the  servant,  “ you  know  well 
that  the  child  is  no  longer  there.” 

“ What ! what  are  you  saying  ? ” replied  Philippe. 

Andree  looked  at  her  brother  with  terror  in  her  eyes. 
The  young  man  ran  to  the  servant’s  bed;  he  searched, 
and  finding  nothing,  uttered  a terrible  cry.  Andree  fol- 
lowed his  movements  in  the  mirror.  She  saw  him  return, 
pale,  with  arms  inert ; she  understood  a part  of  the  truth, 
vol.  hi.  — 34 


530 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


and  replying  like  an  echo  to  her  brother’s  cry,  she  sighed, 
and  fell  back  unconscious  upon  the  pillow. 

Philippe  was  not  prepared  either  for  this  new  misfor- 
tune or  for  Andree’s  great  grief.  He  collected  all  his 
forces,  and  by  dint  of  caresses,  consolations,  and  tears,  he 
recalled  her  to  life. 

“ My  child  ! ” Andree  murmured,  — “ my  child  ! ” 

“ Let  us  save  the  mother ! ” said  Philippe  to  himself. 
“ Sister,  my  dear  sister,  we  are  all  crazy,  it  seems  to  me ; 
we  forget  that  the  good  doctor  has  taken  the  child  away 
with  him.” 

“ The  doctor  ? ” cried  Andree,  with  the  pain  of  doubt, 
with  the  joy  of  hope. 

“ Why,  yes  ! why,  yes  ! Ah,  why,  we  lose  our  senses 
here  ! ” 

“ Philippe,  you  swear  to  me  — ” 

“ Dear  sister,  you  are  no  more  reasonable  than  I.  How 
do  you  imagine  that  that  child  could  have  disappeared  1 ” 
and  he  forced  a laugh  which  deceived  both  nurse  and 
servant. 

Andree  came  to  herself.  “ Yet  I heard  — ” she  said. 

“ What?” 

“ Steps.” 

Philippe  shuddered.  “ Impossible  ! ” he  said  ; “ you 
were  asleep.” 

“ JSTo,  no  ; I was  wide  awake  1 I heard  — I heard  ” 

“Very  well,  you  heard  that  good  doctor,  who,  re- 
turning after  my  departure,  because  he  feared  for  the 
health  of  that  child,  took  him  away.  Besides,  he  had 
spoken  to  me  about  it.” 

“ You  reassure  me.” 

“ How  could  it  be  that  I should  not  reassure  you ; it  is 
so  simple  ? ” 

“ But  then,”  objected  the  nurse,  “what  am  I doing  here?  ” 


THE  ABDUCTION. 


531 


“ Sure  enough  ! The  doctor  is  waiting  for  you  at  your 
house.” 

“ Oh ! ” 

“ Go  to  him,  then.  That  Marguerite  slept  so  soundly 
that  she  heard  nothing  of  what  the  doctor  said,  or  else  he 
did  not  speak  to  her.” 

Andree  fell  back,  more  tranquil  after  that  terrible  shock. 
Philippe  dismissed  the  nurse,  and  gave  some  directions  to 
the  servant.  Then  taking  a lamp  he  examined  carefully 
the  door  of  the  adjoining  chamber,  found  a door  of  the 
garden  open,  saw  footprints  in  the  snow,  and  followed 
them  to  the  garden-door,  where  they  were  lost.  “ Steps 
of  a man  ! ” he  cried.  “ The  child  is  stolen.  Misfortune ! 
misfortune  ! ” 


532 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  LIX. 

THE  VILLAGE  OF  HARAMONT. 

Those  footsteps  in  the  snow  were  Gilbert’s,  who,  since  his 
last  interview  with  Balsamo,  had  followed  up  his  task  of 
surveillance,  and  had  made  ready  his  vengeance.  He  had 
spared  no  pains.  By  dint  of  pleasant  words  and  small 
services  he  had  succeeded  in  making  himself  acceptable, 
even  pleasing,  to  Rousseau’s  wife.  His  method  was 
simple.  Of  the  thirty  sous  a day  which  Rousseau  al- 
lowed his  copyist,  the  prudent  Gilbert  set  aside  one  franc, 
three  times  every  week,  with  which  he  purchased  some 
little  present  for  Therese,  — a ribbon  for  her  bonnet,  a 
delicacy  for  the  table,  or  a bottle  of  cordial.  The  good 
lady,  sensitive  to  everything  that  flattered  her  taste  or  her 
small  pride,  was  now  and  then  gratified  by  exclamations 
of  Gilbert  at  table  in  praise  of  her  culinary  skill. 

For  the  Genevan  philosopher  had  succeeded  in  getting 
his  young  protege  admitted  to  the  table  ; and  during  the 
last  two  months  Gilbert,  thus  favored,  had  accumulated 
two  louis  in  his  treasury,  which  slept  under  his  pallet, 
side  by  side  with  Balsamo’s  twenty  thousand  francs. 

But  what  a life  ! What  persistency  of  resolution  and  of 
will ! Rising  at  daybreak  Gilbert  began  by  examining 
with  his  keen  eyes  the  situation  of  Andree,  that  he  might 
discover  the  least  change  introduced  into  the  dull  and 
regular  life  of  the  recluse.  Nothing,  then,  escaped  his 
observation,  — neither  the  sand  of  the  garden-walks, 


THE  VILLAGE  OF  HARAMONT. 


533 


where  his  piercing  sight  measured  Andree’s  footprints  ; 
nor  the  folds  of  the  curtains,  more  or  less  closely  drawn, 
the  opening  in  which  was  for  him  a sure  index  of  Andree’s 
humor,  for  on  her  days  of  gloom  she  refused  even  to  see 
the  light  of  day.  Thus  Gilbert  knew  what  was  going  on 
in  her  soul,  and  in  the  house.  He  had  also  learned  to 
interpret  all  Philippe’s  movements ; and  making  his  infer- 
ences with  skill,  he  divined  Philippe’s  purpose  when  he 
went  out,  and  what  result  he  brought  on  his  return.  He 
pushed  detail  so  far  as  to  follow  Philippe  one  evening 
when  he  went  to  Versailles  to  find  Doctor  Louis.  This 
visit  to  Versailles  had  slightly  puzzled  him ; but  when, 
two  days  later,  he  saw  the  doctor  stealing  furtively  into 
the  garden  he  understood  the  mystery. 

Gilbert  knew  the  dates,  and  was  aware  that  the  time 
for  the  realization  of  all  his  hopes  was  at  hand.  He 
had  taken  all  the  precautions  necessary  to  assure  success 
in  an  enterprise  bristling  with  difficulties.  This  was  his 
plan  as  laid  out  : the  two  louis  enabled  him  to  hire  in 
the  Faubourg  Saint  Denis  a cabriolet  with  two  horses. 
That  carriage  was  to  be  at  his  orders  whenever  he  should 
need  it.  He  had  also  explored  the  suburbs  of  Paris  in 
a vacation  of  three  or  four  days  which  he  had  taken. 
During  that  vacation  he  had  visited  a little  town  of 
Soissonnais,  lying  eighteen  leagues  from  Paris,  and  sur- 
rounded by  a vast  forest.  This  little  town  was  called 
Villers-Cotterets.  On  arriving  he  had  immediately  called 
upon  the  only  notary  in  the  place,  Maitre  Niquet.  To 
him  Gilbert  presented  himself  as  the  son  of  a great  noble- 
man’s intendant.  This  great  nobleman,  wishing  to  do  a 
kindness  to  the  child  of  one  of  his  peasants,  had  charged 
Gilbert  to  find  a nurse  for  it.  In  all  probability  the  mu- 
nificence of  the  great  nobleman  would  not  be  limited  to 
the  nurse’s  monthly  pay ; and  besides,  he  would  place  in  the 
hands  of  Maitre  Niquet  a certain  sum  for  the  use  of  the  child. 


534 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Then  Maitre  Niquet,  the  father  of  three  fine  boys,  had 
mentioned  to  him  the  daughter  of  the  nurse  of  his  three 
sons,  who  lived  in  the  little  village  of  Haramont,  a league 
from  Villers-Cotterets,  and  who,  after  being  legitimately 
married  in  his  office,  continued  the  occupation  of  madame 
her  mother.  This  honest  woman  was  named  Madeleine 
Pitou,  and  was  the  happy  mother  of  a son,  four  years  old, 
who  showed  every  indication  of  robust  health ; besides, 
she  had  recently  been  confined,  and  consequently  would 
be  at  Gilbert’s  service  whenever  he  should  bring  or  send 
his  nursling. 

These  arrangements  having  been  made,  Gilbert,  always 
punctual,  had  returned  to  Paris  two  hours  before  the  ex- 
piration of  his  leave  of  absence. 

Why  had  Gilbert  chosen  the  little  town  of  Villers-Cot- 
terets, in  preference  to  all  others  1 In  this,  as  in  many 
other  matters,  he  had  been  guided  by  the  influence  of 
Rousseau,  who  had  once  spoken  of  the  forest  of  Villers- 
Cotterets  as  one  of  the  most  fertile  in  existence,  and  had 
named  three  or  four  villages  hidden  in  that  forest  like 
nests  in  deep  foliage.  It  would  be  impossible,  then, 
for  any  one  to  discover  Gilbert’s  child  in  one  of  those 
villages. 

Haramont  especially  had  interested  Rousseau,  — so  much 
indeed,  that  he,  the  misanthrope,  the  hermit,  said  again 
and  again : “ Haramont  is  the  end  of  the  world ; Hara- 
mont is  the  desert ; one  can  live  and  die  there  like  the 
birds,  — on  the  branch  while  he  lives,  under  the  leaves 
when  he  dies.”  Gilbert  had  also  heard  the  philosopher 
describe  the  interior  of  a cottage,  lighting  up  details  with 
the  fire  of  his  genius,  — from  the  smile  of  the  nurse  to  the 
bleating  of  the  goat ; from  the  appetizing  odor  of  the  thick 
vegetable  soup  to  the  perfumes  of  the  wild  mulberry  and 
the  violet-colored  heather. 

“ I will  go  there,”  Gilbert  had  said ; “ my  child  shall 


THE  VILLAGE  OF  HARAMONT. 


535 


grow  up  beneath  the  shades  where  the  master  has  breathed 
his  wishes  and  his  sighs.” 

To  Gilbert  a caprice  was  an  inexorable  command,  espe- 
cially when  that  caprice  presented  itself  in  the  guise  of  a 
moral  necessity.  His  joy,  then,  was  great  when  Maitre 
Niquet,  anticipating  his  wishes,  mentioned  Haramont 
to  him  as  a village  that  would  suit  his  purposes 
exactly. 

On  his  return  to  Paris,  Gilbert  had  given  his  attention 
to  the  cabriolet.  It  was  not  handsome,  but  it  was  strong, 
— it  was  all  that  he  needed.  The  horses  were  of  heavy 
build  ; the  postilion  was  a dull  fellow  from  the  stables. 
But  what  Gilbert  had  in  mind  was  to  fulfil  his  intentions, 
and  without  awakening  any  curiosity.  His  story  had  not 
been  questioned  by  Maitre  Niquet ; with  his  new  garments 
he  was  of  sufficiently  good  appearance  to  resemble  the  son 
of  the  intendant  of  a good  family,  or  the  valet,  in  disguise, 
of  a duke  and  peer.  Nor  had  his  proposition  been  re- 
ceived with  any  suspicion  by  the  owner  of  the  cabriolet. 
It  was  a period  when  there  was  still  confidence  between 
the  people  and  gentlemen.  Money  paid  was  received  in 
those  times  with  a degree  of  gratitude  and  without  the 
asking  of  questions.  Besides,  two  louis  were  then  worth 
as  much  as  four  are  worth  to-day  ; and  to-day  four  louis 
are  good  to  earn.  The  proprietor  agreed  therefore  that 
on  two  hours’  notice  his  carriage  should  be  at  Gilbert’s 
service. 

This  enterprise  had  for  the  young  man  all  the  attractive- 
ness which  the  imagination  of  poets  and  that  of  philoso- 
phers, — two  fairies  very  differently  clad,  — lend  to  good 
actions  and  to  good  resolutions.  To  remove  the  child 
from  its  cruel  mother,  — that  is,  to  plant  shame  and  sorrow 
in  the  enemy’s  camp,  — and  then  with  a change  of  front, 
to  enter  the  cottage  of  virtuous  villagers,  as  painted  by 
Rousseau,  and  deposit  on  a child’s  cradle  a large  sum  of 


536 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


money,  to  be  regarded  as  a tutelary  god  by  those  poor 
villagers,  to  pass  for  a grand  personage,  — this  was  more 
than  enough  to  satisfy  pride,  resentment,  love  for  neigh- 
bors, hatred  for  enemies. 

The  fatal  day  at  length  arrived.  It  followed  ten  other 
days  which  Gilbert  had  spent  in  anxiety,  ten  nights  in 
which  he  had  hardly  slept.  Notwithstanding  the  severity 
of  the  weather  he  lay  with  his  window  open,  and  every 
movement  of  Andree  or  of  Philippe  was  repeated  in  his  ear, 
as  the  bell  answers  to  the  hand  that  pulls  the  cord.  On 
this  last  day  he  saw  Philippe  and  Andree  talking  together 
near  the  fireplace  ; he  saw  the  servant  set  out  hastily  for 
Versailles,  forgetting  to  close  the  blinds.  He  ran  imme- 
diately to  notify  the  owner  of  the  carriage,  and  waited 
in  front  of  the  stable  while  they  harnessed  the  horses, 
biting  his  hands  in  the  effort  to  control  his  impatience. 
At  length  the  postilion  mounted  his  horse,  and  Gilbert  the 
cabriolet,  which  he  stopped  at  the  corner  of  a little  de- 
serted street  near  the  market.  He  then  returned  to 
Rousseau’s,  and  wrote  a letter  of  farewell  to  the  good 
philosopher,  and  of  thanks  to  Therese,  announcing  that  a 
small  inheritance  called  him  to  the  South,  and  that  he 
should  return,  — all  without  precise  information.  Then 
with  his  money  in  his  pocket  and  a long  knife  in  his 
sleeve  he  was  about  to  slide  down  the  gutter-pipe  into  the 
garden,  when  a sudden  idea  arrested  him.  The  snow  ! 
He  had  been  so  occupied  that  he  had  not  thought  of  that. 
On  the  snow  his  footprints  would  be  visible.  Those  foot- 
prints, leading  from  the  wall  of  Rousseau’s  house  would 
cause  Philippe  and  Andree  to  make  an  investigation,  and 
his  disappearance  at  the  very  time  of  the  abduction  would 
reveal  the  whole  secret. 

It  was  therefore  necessary  to  go  round  by  way  of  the 
Rue  Coq-Heron,  and  enter  by  the  garden-door,  a key  to 
which  Gilbert  had  obtained  a month  previously,  and  from 


THE  VILLAGE  OF  HARAMONT. 


537 


which  ran  a well-beaten  path  in  which  his  feet  would  leave 
no  tracks.  He  lost  no  time,  and  arrived  while  the  carriage 
that  had  brought  Doctor  Louis  was  waiting  before  the 
principal  entrance  of  the  little  hotel.  He  opened  the  door 
cautiously,  saw  no  one,  and  went  and  hid  himself  in  the 
corner  of  the  pavilion,  near  the  summer-house. 

It  was  a terrible  night.  He  could  hear  all,  — the  groans 
and  cries  wrested  by  suffering,  even  the  first  wail  of  the 
child  that  was  born  to  him.  Meanwhile,  leaning  against 
the  naked  wall,  he  received,  without  knowing  it,  the  snow 
which  fell  thick  and  heavy  from  the  darkened  sky.  His 
breast  beat  against  the  handle  of  the  knife  which  he 
pressed  despairingly  to  his  breast.  His  fixed  eyes  had  the 
color  of  blood,  the  glow  of  fire. 

At  length  the  doctor  went  out ; at  length  Philippe  ex- 
changed with  the  doctor  a few  last  words.  Then  Gilbert 
approached  the  blind,  leaving  a track  on  the  carpet  of  snow 
which,  ankle-deep,  crackled  under  his  step.  He  saw 
Andree  sleeping  on  her  bed,  Marguerite  dozing  in  the 
easy  chair,  and  looking  for  the  child  near  its  mother,  he 
did  not  see  it.  He  understood  immediately  and  turned 
toward  the  entrance.  He  opened  the  door,  not  without- 
making  a noise  that  alarmed  him,  and  finding  his  way  to 
the  bed  which  had  been  Mcole’s,  feeling  around  he  put 
his  icy  fingers  on  the  poor  child’s  face,  who  thereupon 
uttered  the  cries  which  Andree  had  heard.  Then  envel- 
oping the  new-born  infant  in  a woollen  wrap,  he  carried  it 
away,  leaving  the  door  half-open,  to  avoid  the  risk  of 
noise.  A minute  later  he  had  gained  the  street  by  way  of 
the  garden ; he  hastened  to  his  carriage,  aroused  the  posti- 
lion whom  he  found  asleep,  and  closing  the  leather  curtain 
while  the  man  mounted  his  horse,  he  said,  — 

“ A half-louis  for  you,  if  in  a quarter  of  an  hour  we 
have  passed  the  barrier.” 

The  horses,  sharp-shod  for  ice,  started  off  at  a gallop. 


538 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  LX. 

THE  PITOU  FAMILY. 

During  the  journey  everything  frightened  Gilbert.  The 
noise  of  the  carriages  that  followed  or  passed  by  his  own, 
the  moaning  of  the  wind  in  the  dismantled  trees,  seemed 
to  him  sounds  of  an  organized  pursuit,  or  the  cries  of 
those  from  whom  the  child  had  been  taken.  Nothing 
threatened  him,  however.  The  postilion  bravely  did  his 
duty,  and  the  steaming  horses  arrived  at  Dammartin  at 
the  time  Gilbert  had  expected,  — that  is,  before  the  first 
light  of  day.  Gilbert  paid  his  half-louis,  changed  horses 
and  postilion,  and  resumed  his  journey. 

During  the  first  part  of  the  way,  the  child,  carefully  shel- 
tered by  the  covering  and  shielded  by  Gilbert  himself, 
had  not  felt  the  cold,  and  had  not  uttered  a single  cry. 
As  soon  as  it  was  light  Gilbert,  seeing  the  country  in  the 
distance,  felt  more  courageous,  and  to  drown  the  cries 
which  the  child  was  beginning  to  make,  he  started  on  one 
of  those  everlasting  songs  which  he  used  to  sing  at  Taver- 
ney  when  he  was  returning  from  the  chase.  The  creaking 
of  the  axle-tree  and  the  traces,  the  noise  of  the  iron-work 
about  the  carriage,  the  little  bells  of  the  horses,  made  a 
diabolical  accompaniment,  the  volume  of  which  the  pos- 
tilion himself  increased  by  mingling  with  Gilbert’s  refrain 
fragments  of  a Bourbonnaise  of  a character  somewhat 
seditious. 

This  last  driver  did  not  even  suspect  that  Gilbert  had  a 
child  in  the  cabriolet.  He  stopped  his  horses  just  before 
reaching  Villers-Cotterets,  received  the  stipulated  fare  for 


THE  PITOU  FAMILY. 


539 


his  journey,  a crown  and  six  francs,  and  Gilbert,  taking  up 
his  burden  carefully  enveloped  in  the  folds  of  the  blanket^ 
singing  his  song  as  seriously  as  possible,  quickly  moved 
away,  crossed  a ditch,  and  disappeared  in  a path  strewed 
with  leaves,  which  led  to  the  village  of  Haramont. 

The  weather  had  become  very  cold.  The  snow  had 
ceased  falling ; the  ground  was  hard  and  bristling  with 
underbrush  and  thorny  bushes.  Above  could  be  seen  the 
outlines  of  the  trees  of  the  forests,  leafless  and  gloomy, 
through  whose  branches  shone  the  pale  blue  of  a sky  still 
hazy.  The  keen  air,  the  fragrance  of  the  oaks,  the  pearls 
of  ice  suspended  on  the  ends  of  the  branches,  all  this  free- 
dom, all  this  poetry  excited  the  young  man’s  imagination. 
He  walked  with  a rapid  and  proud  step  through  the  little 
ravine,  without  stumbling,  without  looking  around  ; for  in 
the  midst  of  the  groups  of  trees,  he  took  for  his  guide  the 
steeple  of  the  hamlet  and  the  blue  smoke  of  the  chimneys 
which  could  be  seen  through  the  gray  lattice-work  of  the 
branches.  Within  half  an  hour  he  crossed  a stream  bor- 
dered with  ivy  and  yellow  cress,  and  asked,  at  the  first 
cottage,  the  children  of  a laborer  to  direct  him  to  the 
house  of  Madeleine  Pitou. 

Silent  and  attentive,  instead  of  stupid  and  inactive  like 
some  peasants,  the  children  rose,  and  staring  at  the  stran- 
ger, led  him,  holding  each  other  by  the  hand,  to  a cottage 
of  fair  size,  of  very  good  appearance,  and  situated  by  the 
banks  of  a stream  which  flowed  by  most  of  the  houses  in 
the  village.  The  limpid  waters  of  this  stream  were  swollen 
somewhat  by  the  first  melting  of  the  snow.  A wooden 
bridge  — that  is,  a large  plank  — joined  the  road  to  the 
steps  of  earth  that  led  to  the  house. 

One  of  the  children,  his  guides,  showed  Gilbert  where 
Madeleine  Pitou  lived. 

“ There  1 ” repeated  Gilbert. 


540 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


The  child  nodded  his  head  without  saying  a word. 

“ Madeleine  PitouP’  Gilbert  asked  the  child  once  more. 

The  latter  having  reiterated  his  silent  affirmation,  Gilbert 
crossed  the  little  bridge,  and  knocked  at  the  door  of  the 
cottage;  while  the  children,  who  had  again  taken  each 
other’s  hands,  looked  with  all  their  might  to  see  what  had 
brought  to  Madeleine’s  house  this  fine  gentleman  in  a 
brown  suit  and  buckled  shoes. 

Gilbert,  however,  had  not  yet  noticed  in  the  village 
any  living  creature  but  these  children.  Haramont  was 
really  the  desert  so  much  desired. 

As  soon  as  the  door  was  opened,  a spectacle  full  of 
charm  for  everybody,  but  particularly  so  for  a young  phi- 
losopher, met  Gilbert’s  view.  A stout  peasant  woman 
was  nursing  a fine  child,  a few  months  old,  while  kneel- 
ing before  her,  another  child,  a vigorous  boy  four  or  five 
years  of  age,  was  saying  his  prayer  in  a loud  voice.  In  a 
corner  by  the  fireplace,  near  a window,  or  rather  a hole 
cut  in  the  wall  and  closed  with  glass,  another  peasant 
woman,  about  thirty-five  years  old,  was  spinning  flax,  — 
her  wheel  on  her  right,  a wooden  stool  under  her  feet,  a 
large  poodle  on  the  stool. 

The  dog,  seeing  Gilbert,  barked  in  a very  hospitable  and 
civil  manner,  just  enough  to  show  his  vigilance.  The 
child  at  prayers  turned  round,  cutting  short  the  utter- 
ance of  the  Pater , and  the  two  women  uttered  a sort  of 
exclamation  of  surprise  mingled  with  joy. 

Gilbert  began  by  smiling  at  the  nurse.  “ Good  dame 
Madeleine,”  he  said,  “ I salute  you.” 

The  woman  started  up,  “ Monsieur  knows  my  name  ! ” 
she  said. 

“ As  you  see  ; but  don’t  let  me  disturb  you,  I beg.  In 
fact,  instead  of  one  nursling  which  you  have  now,  you  are 
about  to  have  two ; ” and  he  deposited  in  the  homely 


THE  PITOU  FAMILY. 


541 


cradle  of  the  country  child  the  little  city  child  he  had 
brought. 

“ Oh,  how  pretty  he  is  ! ” exclaimed  the  woman  who 
was  spinning. 

“ Yes,  Sister  Angelique,  very  pretty,”  said  Madeleine. 

“ Madame  is  your  sister  1 ” said  Gilbert,  pointing  to  the 
spinner. 

“My  sister,  yes,  Monsieur/ * replied  Madeleine;  “my 
husband’s  sister.” 

“ Yes,  my  aunt  Gelique,”  murmured  the  little  fellow,  in 
a low  voice,  who  joined  in  the  conversation  without  rising. 

“ Be  still,  Ange  ; be  still ! ” said  the  mother ; “ you 
interrupt  Monsieur.” 

“ What  I have  to  propose  to  you  is  very  simple,  good 
dame.  This  child  is  the  son  of  one  of  my  master’s 
tenants,  a ruined  farmer.  My  master,  godfather  to  this 
child,  wishes  him  to  be  brought  up  in  the  country,  and 
become  a good  workman,  with  good  health  and  good 
manners ; will  you  take  charge  of  this  child ! ” 

“ But,  Monsieur  — ” 

“ He  was  born  yesterday,  and  has  not  yet  been  nursed,” 
interrupted  Gilbert.  “ Besides,  it  is  the  child  of  which 
Maitre  Niquet,  notary  of  Villers-Cotterets,  must  have 
spoken  to  you.” 

Madeleine  immediately  seized  the  child,  and  gave  it  the 
breast  with  a generous  impetuosity  which  moved  Gilbert 
deeply. 

“ They  did  not  deceive  me,”  he  said ; “ you  are  a good 
woman.  I confide  to  your  care  this  child  in  the  name  of 
my  master.  I see  that  he  will  be  happy  here,  and  I hope 
that  he  will  bring  into  this  cottage  a dream  of  happiness 
in  exchange  for  that  which  he  will  find  here.  How  much 
a month  did  you  have  for  the  children  of  Maitre  Niquet, 
of  Villers-Cotterets  1 ” 


542 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ Twelve  francs,  Monsieur ; but  Monsieur  Niquet  is 
rich,  and  he  added  now  and  then  a few  francs  for  sugar 
and  extras/’ 

“ Mother  Madeleine,”  said  Gilbert,  with  pride,  “ for  this 
child  you  shall  be  paid  twenty  francs  a month,  which 
makes  two  hundred  and  forty  francs  a year.” 

“Jesus  ! ” cried  Madeleine;  “thanks,  Monsieur.” 

“ This  is  for  the  first  year,”  said  Gilbert,  laying  on  the 
table  ten  handsome  louis,  which  made  the  two  women  stare, 
and  toward  which  the  little  Ange  stretched  his  rapacious 
hand. 

“ But,  Monsieur,  if  the  child  should  not  live  ? ” the 
nurse  objected  timidly. 

“ That  would  be  a great  misfortune,  — which  will  not 
happen,”  said  Gilbert.  “You  are  satisfied  with  the 
monthly  pay  for  nursing,  then  1 ” 

“ Oh,  yes,  Monsieur  ! ” 

“ Let  us  pass  to  the  payments  of  an  allowance  for  the 
other  years.” 

“ Will  the  child  remain  with  us  1 ” 

“ Probably.” 

“ In  that  case,  Monsieur,  we  should  be  his  father  and 
mother.” 

Gilbert  turned  pale.  “Yes,”  he  said,  in  a suppressed 
tone. 

“ Then,  Monsieur,  this  poor  little  one  is  abandoned  1 ” 

Gilbert  was  not  expecting  such  emotion,  such  ques- 
tions. He  composed  himself,  however.  “ I have  not  told 
you  all,”  he  added  ; “ the  poor  father  has  died  from  grief.” 

The  two  good  women  clasped  their  hands  expressively. 

“ And  the  mother  1 ” asked  Angelique. 

“ Oh,  the  mother,  the  mother  ! ” replied  Gilbert,  breath- 
ing painfully,  “ no  child,  born  or  unborn,  can  ever  count 
on  her.” 


THE  PITOU  FAMILY. 


543 


It  was  at  this  point  in  their  conversation  that  Father 
Pitou  returned  from  the  fields,  appearing  calm  and  happy. 
His  was  one  of  those  dull  and  honest  natures,  full  of  gen- 
tleness and  health,  which  Greuze  has  represented  in  his 
excellent  paintings.  A few  words  explained  to  him  the 
situation.  Besides,  he  comprehended  things  through  pride, 
especially  those  things  which  he  did  not  understand. 

Gilbert  explained  that  the  allowance  of  the  child  was 
to  be  paid  until  he  became  a man  and  capable  of  support- 
ing himself  by  the  use  of  his  mind  and  his  arms. 

“ Be  it  so,”  said  Pitou ; “ I think  we  shall  love  this 
child,  he  is  so  pretty.” 

“ He  too,”  said  Angdlique  and  Madeleine,  — “ he  thinks 
as  we  do.” 

“ Come,  then,  with  me,  I beg,  to  see  Maitre  Niquet ; I 
will  deposit  with  him  the  necessary  money,  that  you  may 
be  satisfied,  and  the  child  may  be  happy.” 

“ Immediately,  Monsieur,”  replied  Pitou,  rising  from 
his  seat. 

Then  Gilbert  took  leave  of  the  good  women,  and  ap- 
proached the  cradle  in  which  the  new-comer  had  already 
displaced  the  child  of  the  house.  He  bent  over  the  cradle 
with  a gloomy  look,  and  for  the  first  time  noticing  the 
face  of  his  son,  he  saw  that  it  resembled  Andree.  This 
sight  broke  his  heart ; he  had  to  bury  his  finger-nails  in 
his  flesh  to  restrain  a tear  which  rose  from  his  wounded 
heart  to  his  eyelid.  He  placed  a timid  kiss  on  the  fresh 
cheek  of  the  newly  horn,  and  drew  back  tottering. 

Father  Pitou  was  already  on  the  threshold,  a stout  stick 
in  his  hand,  his  best  coat  on  his  back. 

Gilbert  gave  a half-louis  to  the  chubby  Ange  Pitou, 
who  crawled  between  his  legs,  and  the  two  women  re- 
quested the  honor  of  embracing  him,  with  the  touching 
familiarity  of  country  people. 


544 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


This  father  of  eighteen  years  had  been  so  weighed 
down  with  emotions  that  he  was  nearly  crushed  by  them. 
Pale,  nervous,  he  began  to  grow  bewildered. 

44  Let  us  go,”  he  said  to  Pitou. 

44  As  you  please,  Monsieur,”  replied  the  peasant,  walk- 
ing on  ; and  they  took  their  departure. 

Suddenly  Madeleine  cried  out  from  the  door.  44  Mon 
sieur  ! Monsieur  ! ” 

44  What  is  it  ? ” said  Gilbert. 

44  His  name  ! his  name ! What  do  you  wish  him  to  be 
called  ? ” 

44  His  name  is  Gilbert ! ” replied  the  young  man,  with 
a manly  pride. 


THE  DEPARTURE. 


543 


CHAPTEE  LXI. 

THE  DEPARTURE. 

At  the  notary’s,  the  business  was  soon  disposed  of.  Gil- 
bert deposited,  under  his  own  name,  a sum  of  twenty 
thousand  francs,  lacking  a few  hundred,  designed  to  de- 
fray the  expenses  of  education  and  maintenance  of  the 
child,  and  also  to  establish  him  in  some  business  when 
he  reached  manhood.  He  allowed  for  the  education  and 
maintenance  the  sum  of  five  hundred  francs  a year  for 
fifteen  years,  and  decided  that  the  rest  of  the  money 
should  be  set  aside  for  the  purchase  of  some  business  or 
a piece  of  land. 

Having  thus  provided  for  the  child,  Gilbert  thought 
of  the  guardians.  He  wished  that  two  thousand  four 
hundred  francs  should  be  given  to  Pitou  by  the  boy 
when  he  attained  the  age  of  eighteen  years.  Until  then 
Maitre  Niquet  was  to  pay  out  annually  only  five  hundred 
francs.  Maitre  Niquet  was  to  enjoy  the  use  of  the  money 
as  compensation  for  his  trouble. 

Gilbert  took  a proper  receipt  for  the  money  from 
Niquet,  and  for  the  child  from  Pitou,  — - Pitou  witnessing 
the  signature  of  Niquet,  Niquet  that  of  Pitou ; so  that  at 
about  noon  Gilbert  was  ready  to  take  his  departure,  leav- 
ing Niquet  in  a state  of  admiration  for  this  precocious 
wisdom,  and  Pitou  rejoicing  in  his  good  fortune. 

On  leaving  the  village  of  Haramont,  Gilbert  fancied 
himself  separating  from  the  whole  world.  Nothing  had 
for  him  now  either  meaning  or  promise.  He  had  left 
vol.  in.  — 35 


546 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


behind  the  careless  life  of  a young  man,  and  had  com- 
mitted what  men  call  a crime,  which  perhaps  God  would 
severely  punish.  At  the  same  time,  confident  in  his  own 
strength  of  mind  and  body,  Gilbert  had  the  courage  to 
tear  himself  away  from  Maitre  Niquet,  who  had  accom- 
panied him,  and  had  taken  a great  liking  to  him,  and  who 
tempted  him  by  a thousand  allurements. 

But  the  mind  is  capricious  ; human  nature  is  subject  to 
weaknesses.  In  proportion  as  a man  has  will,  spontaneity 
of  action,  energy  in  the  execution  of  his  plans,  he  mea- 
sures the  distance  which  already  separates  him  from  his 
first  step.  It  is  then  that  the  most  courageous  are  alarmed ; 
it  is  then  that  they  say,  like  Caesar,  “ Have  I done  well  in 
passing  the  Kubicon  3 ” 

Gilbert,  finding  himself  on  the  verge  of  the  forest, 
turned  to  look  once  more  upon  the  brown  tops  of  the 
trees  which  hid  all  Haramont  except  the  steeple.  This 
charming  picture  of  happiness  and  peace  plunged  him  into 
a revery  full  of  regret  and  delight. 

“ Fool  that  I am  ! ” he  said  to  himself ; “ where  am  I 
going  ] Will  not  God  turn  away  in  anger  in  the  depths 
of  heaven  ? What ! an  idea  presented  itself  to  me ; what ! 
circumstances  favored  the  accomplishment  of  that  idea; 
what ! a man  created  by  God  to  cause  the  wrong  which  I 
have  done,  has  consented  to  repair  this  wrong,  and  I find 
myself  to-day  possessor  of  riches  and  my  child  ! So,  with 
ten  thousand  francs,  ten  thousand  being  reserved  for  the 
child,  I can  live  here  like  a happy  husbandman,  among 
these  good  villagers,  in  the  bosom  of  this  sublime  and 
fruitful  Nature.  I can  bury  myself  forever  in  peaceful 
blessedness,  in  work  and  contemplation ; I can  forget  the 
world,  and  be  forgotten  by  it ; I can  — unbounded  happi- 
ness ! — bring  up  this  child  myself,  and  thus  enjoy  my 
labor.  Why  not  ? Are  not  these  good  chances  compen- 


THE  DEPARTURE. 


547 


sation  for  all  my  past  suffering  ? Oh,  yes ; I can  live  thus ! 
yes,  I can  share  in  the  division  of  this  money  with  the 
child,  which,  besides,  I shall  have  brought  up  myself, 
earning  thus  the  money  which  would  be  given  to  these 
hirelings.  I can  confess  to  Maitre  Niquet  that  I am  his 
father ; I can  do  everything.’5  And  his  heart  was  Ailed 
by  degrees  with  inexpressible  joy,  and  with  a hope  which 
he  had  not  yet  tasted,  even  in  the  most  pleasant  halluci- 
nations of  his  dreams. 

Suddenly  the  worm  which  slumbered  at  the  core  of  this 
beautiful  fruit  awoke,  and  showed  its  hideous  head ; it  was 
remorse,  it  was  shame,  it  was  misery.  “ I cannot, 55  said 
Gilbert,  turning  pale ; “ I have  robbed  this  woman  of  her 
child,  as  I robbed  her  of  her  honor.  I have  robbed  this 
man  of  money,  to  make,  I said,  reparation.  I have,  then, 
no  longer  the  right  to  use  it  for  my  own  happiness ; I 
have  no  longer  the  right  to  keep  the  child,  since  the 
mother  cannot  have  it;  it  belongs  to  both  of  us  or  to 
neither.5’ 

And  with  these  words,  painful  as  wounds,  Gilbert  rose 
in  despair ; his  face  now  expressed  the  most  gloomy,  the 
most  hateful  of  passions.  “ Well,  then,”  said  he  “ I will 
be  miserable ; I will  suffer ; I will  give  up  love  and  for- 
tune ; but  the  portion  of  good  which  I should  have  done, 
I will  turn  to  evil.  My  patrimony  henceforth  is  vengeance 
and  misery.  Do  not  fear,  Andr6e,  I will  share  faithfully 
with  you  ! ” He  turned  to  the  right,  and  after  a moment’s 
reflection  as  to  the  direction  he  should  take,  plunged  into 
the  woods,  where  he  walked  all  day  in  the  direction  of 
Normandy,  which  he  had  reckoned  on  reaching  after  a 
four  days’  journey. 

He  possessed  nine  francs  and  a few  sous.  His  appear- 
ance was  irreproachable,  his  face  calm  and  quiet.  Carry- 
ing a book  under  his  arm,  he  looked  very  much  like  a 


548 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


student  of  good  family  returning  to  the  paternal  mansion. 
He  was  accustomed  to  walk  at  night  in  the  fine  roads,  and 
to  sleep  by  day  in  the  fields  in  the  sun’s  rays.  Twice  only 
the  wind  disturbed  him  so  much  that  he  was  obliged  to 
enter  a cottage,  where,  upon  a chair  by  the  fireplace,  he 
slept  to  his  heart’s  content  without  noticing  the  approach 
of  night.  He  always  had  a pretext  and  a destination. 
“ I am  going  to  Rouen,”  he  said,  “ to  my  uncle’s,  and  I 
come  from  Villers-Cotterets  ; I wished,  like  other  young 
men,  to  make  a journey  on  foot  by  way  of  amusement.” 

There  was  no  suspicion  on  the  part  of  the  peasants  ; at 
that  time  a book  carried  respect  with  it.  If  Gilbert  saw 
an  expression  of  doubt  upon  some  more  compressed  lips, 
he  spoke  of  a school  to  which  his  vocation  called  him. 
This  quickly  dispelled  every  suspicion.  Eight  days  passed 
thus,  during  which  Gilbert  lived  like  a peasant,  spending 
ten  sous  a day  and  walking  ten  leagues.  He  arrived  at 
last  at  Rouen,  and  once  there,  had  no  need  of  information, 
nor  of  asking  his  way. 

The  book  which  he  carried  was  a copy  of  “ La  Nouvelle 
H^loise,”  richly  bound.  Rousseau  had  given  it  to  him, 
and  had  written  his  name  on  the  first  leaf  of  the  book. 
Gilbert,  reduced  to  four  francs  ten  sous,  tore  out  this  leaf, 
which  he  carefully  preserved,  and  sold  the  book  to  a book- 
seller for  three  francs. 

Thus  the  young  man  was  enabled  to  arrive,  three  days 
later,  in  sight  of  Havre,  and  at  sunset  he  beheld  the  sea. 
His  shoes  were  in  a condition  not  at  all  becoming  to  a 
young  gentleman  who  daintily  put  on  silk  stockings  for 
travelling  through  the  towns.  But  Gilbert  had  another 
idea  $ he  sold  his  silk  stockings,  or  rather  exchanged  them, 
for  a pair  of  shoes  of  irreproachable  stoutness.  As  to  their 
elegance,  we  will  say  nothing. 

This  last  night  he  passed  in  Harfleur,  lodged  and  fed  for 


THE  DEPARTURE. 


549 


sixteen  sous.  There  he  ate  oysters  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life.  “A  dish  of  the  rich/’  he  said  to  himself,  “for  the 
poorest  of  men  ; so  true  is  it  that  God  has  done  nothing 
hut  good,  while  men  have  done  the  evil,  according  to  the 
maxim  of  Rousseau.1 1 

At  ten  o’clock  in  the  morning  on  the  thirteenth  of 
December,  Gilbert  entered  Havre,  and  the  first  thing  he 
saw  was  the  “ Adonis,”  a fine  brig  of  three  hundred  tons, 
lying  in  a dock.  The  wharves  were  deserted.  Gilbert 
ventured  to  go  on  board  the  brig  over  a gang-plank.  A 
cabin-boy  approached  to  question  him. 

“ The  captain  ? ” said  Gilbert. 

The  boy  pointed  to  the  companion-way,  and  directly  a 
voice  from  below  cried  out,  “ Let  him  come  down.” 

Gilbert  descended.  He  was  led  into  a small  room,  con- 
structed of  mahogony  and  furnished  with  the  most  quiet 
simplicity.  A man,  thirty  years  old,  pale,  nervous,  with 
keen  and  restless  eye,  was  reading  a paper  upon  a table 
made  of  mahogany  like  the  walls.  “ What  does  Monsieur 
wish  ? ” he  said  to  Gilbert. 

Gilbert  made  a sign  to  the  man  to  dismiss  his  boy,  and 
the  boy  withdrew. 

“You  are  the  captain  of  the  ‘ Adonis/  Monsieur?”  said 
Gilbert,  immediately. 

“Yes,  Monsieur.” 

“ This  note  is  addressed  to  you,  then  ? ” He  handed  to 
the  captain  Balsam o’s  note. 

Scarcely  had  he  looked  at  the  writing,  when  the  captain 
rose  and  said  hastily  to  Gilbert,  with  a smile  full  of  affa- 
bility, “ Ah,  you  too ? So  young?  Good  1 good  1 ” 

Gilbert  merely  bowed. 

“ You  are  going?  ” he  said. 

“ To  America.” 

“ You  start  ? ” 


550 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ I go  with  you.” 

“ Good.  In  eight  days,  then.” 

“ What  shall  I do  in  the  mean  time,  Captain  ? ” 

“ Have  you  a passport  ] ” 

“No.” 

“ Then  you  must  come  on  board  to-night,  after  having 
walked  all  day  outside  the  town,  — at  Sainte-Adresse,  for 
instance.  Do  not  speak  to  any  one.” 

“ I must  eat ; I have  no  money.” 

“ You  must  dine  here  ; you  shall  have  supper  to-night.” 
“ And  afterward  ] ” 

“ Once  embarked,  you  will  not  again  land  ; you  will 
remain  in  hiding  here.  You  will  depart  without  looking 
again  at  the  sky.  Once  at  sea,  twenty  leagues  out,  you 
shall  be  free  as  you  please.” 

“ Good.” 

“ Finish  to-day  all  that  you  have  to  do.” 

“ I have  a letter  to  write.” 

“ Write  it  on  this  table ; here  is  pen,  ink,  and  paper. 
The  post-office  is  in  the  faubourg ; the  boy  will  conduct 
you.” 

“Thanks,  Captain,”  and  Gilbert,  left  alone,  wrote  a 
short  letter  upon  which  he  placed  this  address  : “ Made- 
moiselle Andree  de  Taverney ; Paris,  Eue  Coq-Heron,  9,  — 
the  first  door  beyond  the  Rue  Plastriere.”  Then  he  put 
the  letter  in  his  pocket,  ate  what  the  captain  himself 
served  him,  and  followed  the  boy,  who  conducted  him  to 
the  post-office,  where  the  letter  was  mailed. 

All  day  long  Gilbert  watched  the  sea  from  the  top  of  the 
cliffs.  At  night  he  returned.  The  captain  was  on  the 
lookout  for  him,  and  brought  him  on  board. 


GILBERT’S  LAST  FAREWELL. 


551 


CHAPTER  LXII. 

GILBERT’S  LAST  FAREWELL. 

Philippe  had  passed  a terrible  night.  Those  footprints  in 
the  snow  were  sufficient  proof  that  some  one  had  made  his 
way  into  the  house  to  carry  off  the  child  ; but  whom  could 
he  accuse  1 There  was  nothing  to  fix  his  suspicions  upon 
any  one. 

Philippe  knew  his  father  so  well  that  he  did  not  doubt 
his  complicity  in  the  affair.  Monsieur  de  Taverney  be- 
lieved Louis  XV.  to  be  the  father  of  this  child ; he  would 
attach  great  importance  to  the  preservation  of  this  living 
witness  of  the  king’s  infidelity  to  Madame  Dubarry.  The 
baron  would  also  believe  that,  sooner  or  later,  An  dree  would 
be  restored  to  favor,  and  would  wish  to  regain  at  any  price 
the  principal  means  of  her  coming  fortune.  These  reflec- 
tions, based  upon  a revelation,  still  quite  fresh,  of  the 
paternal  character,  comforted  Philippe  somewhat,  who 
thought  it  possible  to  recover  this  child  since  he  knew 
who  had  stolen  it.  He  watched  therefore  for  the  coming 
of  Doctor  Louis  at  eight  o’clock,  to  whom,  as  they  walked 
back  and  forth  in  the  street,  he  related  the  frightful  event 
of  the  night. 

The  doctor  was  a man  of  good  judgment ; he  examined 
the  footprints  in  the  garden,  and  after  consideration  de- 
cided in  favor  of  Philippe’s  suppositions.  “ I know  the 
baron  well  enough,”  he  said,  “ to  believe  him  capable  of 
this  wicked  deed.  At  the  same  time,  may  not  some  other 
interest,  more  immediate,  have  led  to  the  abduction  of  this 
child  1 ” 


552 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ What  interest,  Doctor  ? ” 

“ That  of  the  real  father.” 

“ Oh  ! ” cried  Philippe,  “ for  a moment  I had  this  idea ; 
but  the  miserable  man  has  not  even  bread  for  himself.  He 
is  a madman,  a fanatic,  a fugitive  by  this  time,  who  must 
be  afraid  of  my  very  shadow.  Let  us  make  no  mistake, 
Doctor.  The  miserable  fellow  committed  this  crime  under 
the  temptation  of  opportunity ; but  now  that  I am  no 
longer  angry,  although  I hate  this  criminal,  I think  that  I 
shall  avoid  meeting  him,  so  that  I may  not  kil)  him.  I 
think  he  must  have  feelings  of  remorse  which  punish  him  ; 
I think  that  hunger  and  exile  will  avenge  me  as  efficiently 
as  my  sword.” 

“ Let  us  say  no  more  about  it,”  said  the  doctor. 

“You  will,  dear  and  good  friend,  consent  to  just  one 
last  falsehood ; for  we  must,  first  of  all,  reassure  Andree. 
You  will  tell  her  that  yesterday  you  were  alarmed  about 
the  health  of  this  child ; that  you  returned  in  the  night, 
and  took  him  to  carry  him  to  his  nurse.  This  fiction 
which  I have  improvised  for  Andree  is  the  first  one  that 
presents  itself  to  my  mind.” 

“ I will  say  that ; you  will,  however,  seek  for  this 
child?” 

“ I have  a plan  for  finding  him.  I have  decided  to 
leave  France.  Andree  will  enter  the  monastery  of  Saint 
Denis ; then  I will  seek  Monsieur  de  Taverney.  I will 
tell  him  that  I know  all ; I will  make  him  disclose  to  me 
the  hiding-place  of  the  child.  His  resistance  I will  over- 
come by  threats  of  public  exposure,  by  threats  of  interven- 
tion on  the  part  of  Madame  la  Dauphine.” 

“ And  what  will  you  do  with  the  child,  your  sister  being 
in  the  convent  ? ” 

“ I will  place  him  at  nurse  with  a woman  whom  you  will 
recommend  to  me ; afterward  I will  send  him  to  college, 


GILBERT’S  LAST  FAREWELL. 


553 


and  when  he  is  grown  up  I will  keep  him  with  me,  if  I 
live.” 

“And  do  you  think  that  the  mother  will  consent  to 
leave  either  you  or  her  child  ] ” 

“Andr6e  will  henceforth  consent  to  anything  I wish. 
She  knows  that  I have  approached  Madame  la  Dauphine 
on  the  subject,  whose  promise  I have  ; she  will  not  allow 
me  to  be  wanting  in  respect  toward  our  protectress.” 

“ Let  us  go  in  to  see  the  poor  mother,”  said  the  doctor ; 
and  he  entered  the  apartment  of  Andre e,  who  was  sleep- 
ing quietly,  comforted  by  Philippe’s  attentions.  Her  first 
word  was  a question  to  the  doctor,  who  had  already  reas- 
sured her  by  his  happy  expression.  She,  from  that  time, 
became  so  calm  that  her  convalescence  was  much  accel- 
erated ; and  ten  days  later  she  rose,  and  could  walk  in  the 
conservatory  when  the  sun  was  shining  upon  the  glass. 

On  the  very  day  of  this  walk,  Philippe,  who  had  been 
away  for  some  days,  returned  to  the  house  in  the  Kue  Coq- 
Heron  with  a face  so  gloomy  that  the  doctor,  on  opening 
the  door  for  him,  divined  some  great  misfortune. 

“ What  is  the  matter,  then  V Does  your  father  refuse  to 
restore  the  child  (l  ” 

“ My  father,”  said  Philippe,  “ has  been  seized  with  an 
attack  of  fever,  which  confined  him  to  his  bed  three  days 
after  his  departure  from  Paris,  and  he  was  very  low  when 
I arrived.  I looked  upon  all  this  sickness  as  a trick,  as  a 
pretence,  as  a proof  even  of  his  complicity  in  the  abduc- 
tion. I insisted,  I threatened  ; but  Monsieur  de  Taverney 
swore  to  me  by  the  Christ  that  he  understood  nothing  I 
said  to  him.” 

“ So  you  return  to  Paris  without  having  obtained  any 
intelligence  1 ” 

“ Yes,  Doctor.” 

“ And  convinced  of  the  baron’s  veracity  h ” 


554 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“Almost  convinced.” 

“More  artful  than  you,  he  has  not  disclosed  his 
secret.” 

“ I threatened  him  with  the  intervention  of  Madame  la 
Dauphine,  and  the  baron  turned  pale.  4 Ruin  me  if  you 
like/  he  said ; ‘ bring  dishonor  upon  your  father  and  your- 
self ; it  will  be  an  egregious  folly  without  any  result.  I 
do  not  know  what  you  mean/  ” 

“ So  that  — ” 

“ So  that  I return  in  despair.” 

At  this  moment  Philippe  heard  his  sister’s  voice  saying, 
“ Has  not  Philippe  returned  1 ” 

“ Great  God  ! here  she  is  ! What  shall  I say  to  her  1 ” 
murmured  Philippe. 

“ Silence  ! ” said  the  doctor. 

Andree  entered  the  room,  and  embraced  her  brother 
with  a joyous  tenderness  which  chilled  the  young  man’s 
heart. 

“ Well,”  she  said,  “ where  do  you  come  from!” 

“ I come  from  my  father,  in  the  first  place,  as  I told 
you.” 

“ Monsieur  le  Baron  is  well  ? ” 

“Yes,  Andree;  but  that  was  not  the  only  visit  I have 
made.  I have  seen  several  persons  respecting  your  en- 
trance at  Saint  Denis.  Thank  God,  everything  is  now 
ready ; you  are  saved,  you  can  think  of  your  future  with 
intelligence  and  firmness.” 

Andree  approached  her  brother  and  with  a tender  smile, 
“ Dear  friend,”  she  said,  “ my  future  no  longer  concerns 
me  ; neither  must  my  future  trouble  any  one.  The  future 
of  my  child  is  all  to  me,  and  I shall  consecrate  myself 
solely  to  the  son  God  has  given  me.  This  is  my  resolu- 
tion, irrevocably  taken,  since,  with  the  return  of  my 
strength,  I can  no  longer  doubt  the  steadiness  of  my 


GILBERT’S  LAST  FAREWELL. 


555 


mind.  To  live  for  my  son,  to  suffer  privation,  to  labor 
even,  if  necessary,  but  never  to  leave  him,  day  or  night,  — 
such  is  the  future  I have  laid  out  for  myself.  No  more 
convent,  no  more  egotism ; I belong  to  some  one  ; God  no 
longer  wants  me  ! ” 

The  doctor  looked  at  Philippe  as  if  to  say:  “Well, 
what  did  I predict  ? ” 

“ My  sister,”  cried  the  young  man,  “ what  are  you 
saying  t ” 

“ Do  not  blame  me,  Philippe,  this  is  no  caprice  of  a 
weak  and  vain  woman  ; I will  not  incommode  you.  I 
will  impose  nothing  upon  you.” 

“But  — but,  Andree,  I cannot  remain  in  Prance;  I 
wish  to  leave  everything.  1 have  no  longer  any  fortune  ; 
no  longer  any  future.  I might  consent  to  abandon  you  at 
the  foot  of  an  altar,  but  in  the  world,  in  the  midst  of  toil, 
— Andree,  take  care  ! ” 

“ I have  considered  everything.  I love  you  sincerely, 
Philippe ; but  if  you  leave  me,  I will  restrain  my  tears, 
and  take  refuge  near  the  cradle  of  my  son.” 

The  doctor  approached.  “This  is  extravagance,  mad- 
ness,” he  said. 

“ Ah,  Doctor,  what  would  you  have  ? It  is  a state  of 
madness  to  be  a mother,  but  God  sent  me  this  madness. 
So  long  as  this  child  needs  me  I shall  persist  in  my 
resolution.” 

Philippe  and  the  doctor  exchanged  glances. 

“ My  child,”  said  the  doctor,  “ I am  not  a very  eloquent 
preacher ; but  I think  I remember  that  God  forbids  too 
strong  an  attachment  to  any  creature.” 

“ Yes,  sister,”  added  Philippe. 

“God  does  not  forbid  a mother’s  strong  love  for  her 
son,  I think,  Doctor.” 

“ Pardon  me,  my  child.  For  every  law  that  comes  from 
God,  search  out,  not  the  moral  cause  alone,  but  also  the 


556 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


material  cause.  God  forbids  a mother  to  love  her  child  to 
excess,  because  the  child  is  a frail,  delicate  plant,  exposed 
to  all  misfortunes,  to  all  sufferings ; and  because  to  love  in- 
tensely an  ephemeral  creature  is  to  expose  one’s  self  to 
despair.” 

“ Doctor,”  murmured  Andree,  “ why  do  you  say  this  to 
me  ] And  you,  Philippe,  why  are  you  regarding  me  with 
this  compassion,  this  paleness  ] ” 

“Dear  Andree,”  interrupted  the  young  man,  “follow 
my  advice.  Your  health  is  re-established  ; enter  as  soon  as 
possible  the  convent  of  Saint  Denis.” 

“ I ! I have  told  you  that  I will  not  leave  my  son.” 

“ So  long  as  he  shall  have  need  of  you,”  said  the  doctor, 
gently. 

“ My  God  ! ” cried  Andree,  “ what  is  it  ] Speak  ! 
Something  sad,  cruel  ] ” 

“Be  careful,”  the  doctor  whispered  in  Philippe’s  ear; 
“ she  is  too  weak  to  bear  a decided  blow.” 

“ Brother,  you  do  not  answer  ; explain  yourself.” 

“Dear  sister,  you  know  that  on  my  return  I passed 
through  Point-de-Jour,  where  your  child  is  at  nurse.” 

“ Yes,  well]  ” 

“ Well,  the  child  was  somewhat  ill.” 

“ 111 ! that  dear  child  ! Quick,  Marguerite ; Marguerite, 
a carriage  ! I am  going  to  see  my  child  ! ” 

“ Impossible  ! ” cried  the  doctor  ; “ you  are  not  in  a 
condition  to  go  out,  or  to  bear  the  motion  of  a carriage.” 

“ You  told  me  this  morning  that  this  was  possible ; you 
told  me  that  to-morrow  on  Philippe’s  return,  I should  go 
to  see  the  poor  little  one.” 

“ I thought  you  would  be  stronger  than  you  are.” 

“ Are  you  deceiving  me  ] ” 

The  doctor  remained  silent. 

“ Marguerite ! ” repeated  Andree,  “obey  me  ; a carriage  ! ” 
“ But  it  may  kill  you,”  interrupted  Philippe. 


GILBERT’S  LAST  FAREWELL. 


557 


“ Well,  let  it  kill  me ! I do  not  care  so  very  much  for  life.” 
Marguerite  waited,  regarding  in  turn  her  mistress,  her 
master,  and  the  doctor. 

“ Come ! when  I command  ! ” cried  Andree,  whose 
cheeks  suddenly  reddened. 

“ Dear  sister  ! ” 

“ I will  hear  nothing  more  ; and  if  you  refuse  me  a car- 
riage, I will  go  on  foot.” 

“ Andree,”  said  Philippe,  suddenly,  “ you  will  not  go  • 
no,  there  is  no  need  of  your  going.” 

“My  child  is  dead  ! ” said  the  young  girl,  coldly,  letting 
her  hands  fall  over  the  sides  of  the  chair  in  which  Philippe 
and  the  doctor  had  seated  her. 

Philippe  answered  only  by  kissing  one  of  her  cold  and 
listless  hands.  By  degrees  Andree’s  neck  lost  its  rigidity  ; 
her  head  drooped  on  her  bosom,  and  she  shed  copious  tears. 

“ God  has  willed,”  said  Philippe,  “ that  we  should  sub- 
mit to  this  new  misfortune,  — God,  who  is  so  great,  so 
just,  who  may  have  other  plans  for  you,  who  judged,  no 
doubt,  that  the  presence  of  this  child  at  your  side  would 
be  a punishment  undeserved.” 

“ But  yet,”  sighed  the  poor  mother,  “ why  has  God 
made  this  innocent  creature  suffer?” 

“ God  has  not  made  him  suffer,  my  child,”  said  the 
doctor  ; “ he  died  on  the  very  night  of  his  birth.  Have  no 
more  regret  for  him  than  for  a shadow  that  comes  and  goes.” 
“ The  cries  that  I heard  ] ” 

“Were  his  farewell  to  life.” 

Andree  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  while  the  two  men, 
expressing  their  thought  in  an  eloquent  look,  congratulated 
themselves  on  their  pious  lie. 

Suddenly  Marguerite  entered  with  a letter  addressed  to 
Andree  in  the  following  manner  : “ Mademoiselle  Andree 
de  Taverney,  Paris,  Rue  Coq-Heron,  — the  first  door  be- 
yond the  Rue  Plastriere.” 


558 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Philippe  showed  the  letter  to  the  doctor  over  Andr4e*s 
head,  who  was  no  longer  weeping,  but  was  absorbed  in 
her  grief.  “ Who  could  have  written  it  ? ” he  thought. 
“ No  one  knew  her  address,  and  it  is  not  our  father’s 
writing.” 

“ Here,  Andree,”  said  Philippe,  “ is  a letter  for  you.” 

Without  thinking,  without  hesitating,  without  surprise, 
Andree  tore  open  the  envelope,  and  wiping  her  eyes,  un- 
folded the  paper  to  read ; but  she  had  scarcely  run  over 
the  lines  which  composed  this  letter  when  she  uttered 
a loud  cry,  rose  up  like  a mad  woman,  and  with  a terrible 
contraction  of  her  arms  and  feet  fell,  heavy  as  a statue, 
into  the  arms  of  Marguerite  who  was  standing  near. 

Philippe  picked  up  the  letter  and  read, — 

At  Sea,  December  15,  17  — 

1 go,  driven  away  by  you,  and  you  will  not  see  me  again; 
but  I carry  away  my  child,  which  shall  never  call  you  mother ! 

Gilbert. 

Philippe  crushed  the  paper,  with  a roar  of  anger. 
“ Oh  ! ” he  said,  grinding  his  teeth,  “ I had  almost  par- 
doned the  crime  committed  on  the  spur  of  temptation; 
but  this  deliberate  crime  shall  be  punished.  Over  your 
lifeless  head,  Andree,  I swear  to  kill  the  miserable  fellow 
the  first  time  I meet  him.  God  will  permit  me  to  meet 
him,  for  he  has  filled  the  measure  to  the  brim.  Doctor, 
will  Andree  recover  ? ” 

“ Yes,  yes  ! ” 

“ Doctor,  Andree  must  enter  the  monastery  of  Saint 
Denis  to-morrow ; by  the  day  after  to-morrow  I must  be 
at  the  nearest  seaport.  The  villain  has  fled,  I will  follow 
him.  Besides,  I must  have  this  child.  Doctor,  which  is 
the  nearest  seaport?  ” 

“ Havre.” 

“ I will  be  at  Havre  in  thirty-six  hours,”  replied  Philippe. 


ON  BOARD. 


559 


CHAPTER  LXIII. 

ON  BOARD. 

From  that  moment  Andree’s  house  was  dull  and  silent  as 
a tomb. 

The  knowledge  that  her  son  was  dead  would  per- 
haps have  killed  Andree.  It  would  have  been  one  of 
those  heavy,  abiding  sorrows  which  perpetually  under- 
mine. Gilbert's  letter  was  a blow  so  violent  that  it 
aroused  all  the  aggressive  force  and  feeling  that  still 
remained  in  Andree’s  generous  soul.  Coming  to  herself, 
she  looked  at  Philippe,  and  the  wrath  which  she  read  in 
his  eyes  was  a new  source  of  courage  for  herself.  She 
remained  silent  until  her  strength  was  so  far  recovered 
that  her  voice  would  not  tremble,  and  then,  taking  Phi- 
lippe’s hand,  “My  friend,”  she  said,  “you  spoke  to  me 
this  morning  of  the  monastery  of  Saint  Denis,  in  which  a 
cell  has  been  granted  me  by  Madame  la  Dauphine  1 ” 

“Yes,  Andree.” 

“ You  will  conduct  me  thither  to-day,  if  you  please.” 

“ Thanks,  sister.” 

“To  you,  Doctor,”  Andree  continued,  “for  so  many 
kindnesses  a word  of  thanks  would  be  a barren  recom- 
pense. Your  recompense,  Doctor,  cannot  be  found  on 
earth.”  She  went  to  him  and  kissed  him.  “ This  little 
medallion,”  she  said,  “ contains  my  portrait,  which  my 
mother  caused  to  be  made  when  I was  two  years  old.  It 
should  resemble  my  son.  Keep  it,  Doctor,  and  let  it  speak 
to  you  sometimes  of  the  child  whom  you  have  ushered  into 
life,  and  of  the  mother  whom  your  care  has  saved.” 


560 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Having  spoken  thus,  Andree,  without  giving  way  to 
emotion,  made  her  preparations  for  the  change,  and  at  six 
o’clock  in  the  evening  she  passed  through  the  wicket-door 
of  the  parlor  of  Saint  Denis,  before  the  bars  of  which 
Philippe,  unable  to  control  his  emotions,  uttered  within 
himself  a farewell,  perhaps  eternal. 

Poor  Andree’s  fortitude  suddenly  left  her.  She  turned 
and  ran  back  to  her  brother  with  outstretched  arms  ; he 
also  extended  his  arms  toward  her.  They  met,  notwith- 
standing the  cold  barrier  of  bars  between  them,  and  their 
tears  were  mingled  on  their  burning  cheeks. 

“ Adieu  ! adieu  ! ” murmured  Andree,  whose  grief  burst 
forth  in  sobs. 

“ Adieu  ! ” replied  Philippe,  stifling  his  despair. 

“ If  you  ever  find  my  son,”  said  Andree,  in  a low  voice, 
“ do  not  let  me  die  till  I have  embraced  him.” 

“ Be  assured.  Adieu  ! adieu  ! ” 

Andree  tore  herself  from  her  brother’s  arms,  and  sup- 
ported by  a lay  sister  went  forward,  constantly  looking 
back  at  him  as  he  stood  in  the  deep  shadow.  So  long  as 
he  could  see  her  he  made  signs  to  her  with  his  head  and 
by  shaking  his  handkerchief.  At  length  he  received  a 
last  farewell,  which  she  sent  to  him  from  the  end  of  the 
dim  passage-way.  Then  an  iron  gate  fell  between  them 
with  a melancholy  sound,  and  all  was  over. 

Philippe  took  post  at  Saint  Denis ; with  his  portmanteau 
behind  him  he  journeyed  all  that  night,  all  the  following 
day,  and  in  the  evening  arrived  at  Havre.  He  slept  at 
the  first  hostelry  he  found,  and  at  daybreak  the  next  day 
was  out  on  the  wharves  inquiring  about  the  earliest  de- 
partures for  America.  He  learned  that  the  brig  “ Adonis  ” 
would  sail  that  very  day  for  New  York.  He  sought  out 
the  captain,  who  was  finishing  his  preparations,  and  on 
paying  the  price  for  the  passage  was  admitted  as  a 


ON  BOARD. 


561 


passenger.  Then,  having  written  a last  letter  to  Madame  la 
Dauphine,  declaring  his  respectful  devotion  and  his  grati- 
tude, he  sent  his  baggage  on  board,  and  himself  embarked 
at  the  time  of  high  tide. 

Four  o’clock  was  striking  in  the  tower  of  Francis  I. 
when  the  “ Adonis  ” left  the  channel  under  foresail  and 
topsails.  The  sea  was  of  a sombre  blue,  the  sky  red  on 
the  horizon.  Philippe,  leaning  on  the  railing,  after  hav- 
ing saluted  the  few  passengers,  his  travelling  compan- 
ions, stood  gazing  at  the  coast  of  France,  which  gradually 
became  embrowned  with  a purplish  smoke,  as  the  brig, 
unfurling  more  sail,  moved  rapidly  to  the  right  and  gained 
the  open  sea.  Very  soon  the  shore  of  France,  fellow- 
passengers,  and  the  ocean  disappeared;  dark  night  had 
covered  all  with  its  extended  wings.  Philippe  went  to 
his  little  cabin  to  read  over  the  copy  of  his  letter  to  the 
dauphiness,  which  might  serve  for  a prayer  addressed  to 
the  Creator,  as  well  as  for  a farewell  addressed  to  a fellow- 
creature.  Philippe  had  written  as  follows : — 

Madame,  — A man  without  hope  and  without  support 
withdraws  himself  from  you  with  regret  at  having  done  so 
little  for  your  future  Majesty.  He  goes  to  encounter  the 
storms  and  tempests  of  the  sea  while  you  remain  amid  the 
troubles  and  dangers  of  government.  Young,  beautiful,  adored, 
surrounded  by  respectful  friends  and  idolizing  servants,  you 
will  forget  him  whom  your  royal  hand  has  condescended  to 
lift  above  the  crowd.  But  I shall  never  forget  you.  I am 
going  to  a new  world  to  study  the  means  of  serving  you  more 
effectively  upon  your  throne.  I leave  to  you  my  sister,  poor 
abandoned  flower,  who  will  have  no  other  sun  than  the  light 
of  your  countenance.  Deign  sometimes  to  condescend  to  her ; 
and  in  the  midst  of  your  joy,  of  your  omnipotence,  in  the 
chorus  of  unanimous  devotion,  listen,  I beseech  you,  to  the 
benediction  of  an  exile  who  will  no  longer  hear  you,  and 
perhaps  will  never  see  you  again. 

vol.  in.  — 36 


562 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


After  reading  this  letter  Philippe’s  heart  was  oppressed. 
The  melancholy  sound  of  the  groaning  vessel  and  the 
rush  of  the  waves  which  broke  against  the  prow  made  a 
combination  of  noises  which  would  have  saddened  the 
happiest  imaginations.  The  night  was  long  and  painful 
to  the  young  man.  A visit  which  the  captain  made  him 
in  the  morning  did  not  restore  him  to  a satisfactory  state 
of  mind.  That  officer  informed  him  that  the  greater  part 
of  the  passengers  feared  the  sea  and  confined  themselves 
to  their  berths,  and  that  the  passage  promised  to  be  short, 
but  disagreeable,  owing  to  the  violence  of  the  wind. 

Philippe  fell  into  the  custom  of  dining  with  the  captain, 
and  having  breakfast  served  in  his  cabin ; and  not  finding 
himself  well- hardened  against  the  inconveniences  of  a sea- 
voyage,  he  acquired  the  habit  of  spending  some  hours  on 
the  deck  reclining  on  his  large  military  cloak.  The  rest 
of  the  time  he  employed  in  planning  his  future  course, 
and  in  supporting  his  mind  by  solid  reading.  Sometimes 
he  met  his  fellow-passengers.  There  were  two  ladies  on 
their  way  to  take  possession  of  an  inheritance  in  North 
America,  and  four  men,  one  of  whom,  already  old,  had 
with  him  two  sons.  These  were  the  cabin  passengers. 
On  the  other  side  Philippe  once  noticed  some  men  of  an 
appearance  and  bearing  more  common ; he  found  nothing 
there  to  occupy  his  attention. 

In  proportion  as  habit  diminished  his  suffering,  Philippe 
recovered  his  serenity.  Some  fine  days,  clear  and  free 
from  storms,  announced  to  the  passengers  the  approach 
to  temperate  latitudes.  Then  they  remained  longer  on 
deck;  then,  in  the  night,  Philippe,  who  had  concealed 
his  name  even  from  the  captain,  that  he  might  not 
have  to  talk  on  any  subject  he  dreaded  to  approach,  — 
Philippe  heard,  in  his  cabin,  steps  over  his  head ; he  even 
heard  the  voice  of  the  captain,  who  doubtless  was  walking 


ON  BOARD. 


563 


with  a passenger.  It  was  a reason  why  he  should  not  go 
up.  He  therefore  opened  his  port-hole,  to  breathe  a little 
fresh  air,  and  waited  for  the  morning. 

Once  only  during  the  night,  hearing  neither  voices  nor 
footsteps,  he  ascended  to  the  deck.  The  night  was  warm, 
the  sky  clouded,  and  in  the  wake  of  the  vessel  were  seen, 
springing  up  in  whirls,  thousands  of  phosphorescent  atoms. 
The  night  apparently  had  seemed  to  the  passengers  too 
dark  and  too  stormy;  for  Philippe  saw  no  one  on  the 
stern-deck.  But  forward,  on  the  bow  and  leaning  against 
the  mast  of  the  bowsprit,  motionless  in  sleep  or  medita- 
tion, was  a dark  figure,  which  in  the  dim  light  Philippe 
could  hardly  distinguish,  — doubtless  some  second-class 
passenger,  some  poor  exile  looking  forward  to  the  arrival 
in  America,  while  Philippe  himself  was  regretting  the 
departure  from  France. 

Philippe  contemplated  that  motionless  passenger  a long 
time ; then  feeling  the  cold  of  the  early  morning,  he  pre- 
pared to  return  to  his  cabin.  Meantime  the  passenger  at 
the  prow  gazed  at  the  sky,  which  began  to  grow  light. 
Philippe  heard  the  captain  coming,  and  turned  round, 
“ You  are  taking  the  morning  air,  Captain  1 ” he  said. 

“ Monsieur,  I am  just  out  of  bed.” 

“ You  have  been  anticipated  by  some  of  your  passen- 
gers, as  you  see.” 

“ By  you ; but  officers  are,  like  sailors,  early  birds.” 

“ Oh,  not  by  me,  only  ! ” said  Philippe.  u See,  yonder, 
that  man  who  meditates  so  profoundly ; he  also  is  one  of 
your  passengers,  is  he  not  h ” 

The  captain  looked  and  appeared  to  be  surprised. 

“ Who  is  that  man  ? ” asked  Philippe. 

“A  — merchant,”  said  the  captain,  with  hesitation. 

“ Who  is  running  after  a fortune  ? ” murmured  Philippe. 
u This  brig  goes  too  slowly  for  him.” 


564 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


The  captain,  instead  of  replying,  went  forward  to  the 
passenger,  and  spoke  to  him,  and  Philippe  saw  him  dis- 
appear down  the  companion-way. 

“You  have  disturbed  his  meditations,”  said  Philippe  to 
the  captain,  who  rejoined  him.  “ He  did  not  annoy  me, 
however.” 

“ No,  Monsieur,  I warned  him  that  the  morning  cold  is 
dangerous  in  these  latitudes.  Passengers  of  the  second- 
class  have  not  good  cloaks,  like  you.” 

“ Where  are  we,  Captain  ? ” 

“ Monsieur,  to-morrow  we  shall  see  the  Azore  Islands, 
at  one  of  which  we  will  take  in  a little  fresh  water,  for  it 
is  very  warm.” 


THE  AZORE  ISLANDS. 


565 


CHAPTER  LXIY. 

THE  AZORE  ISLANDS. 

The  next  day,  as  the  captain  had  predicted,  the  passen- 
gers could  see  islands  in  the  northeast,  far  off  under  the 
dazzling  sun.  They  were  the  Azores.  The  wind  was  fair, 
and  the  brig  made  good  progress.  Toward  three  o’clock 
they  were  near  enough  for  a complete  view.  When  they 
had  approached  within  the  distance  of  a cannon-shot  from 
the  nearest  island,  the  brig  was  brought  up  into  the  wind, 
and  the  crew  prepared  to  go  ashore  for  some  barrels  of 
fresh  water,  as  the  captain  had  promised.  All  the  passen- 
gers welcomed  the  pleasure  of  a trip  to  the  shore.  To 
place  the  feet  on  solid  ground  after  twenty  days  and 
nights  of  painful  navigation  is  a sort  of  pleasure  which 
those  only  can  appreciate  who  have  made  a long  voyage. 

“ Gentlemen/’  said  the  captain  to  the  passengers  who 
he  thought  were  undecided,  “ you  have  five  hours  for  a 
trip  to  the  shore.  Take  advantage  of  the  opportunity. 
You  will  find  on  that  little  island,  entirely  uninhabited, 
springs  of  ice-water  for  you.  who  are  naturalists,  and  rab- 
bits and  red  partridges  for  you  who  are  sportsmen.” 

Philippe  took  his  gun  and  ammunition.  “But,  Cap- 
tain,” said  he,  “ do  you  remain  on  board  1 Why  do  you 
not  come  with  us  1 ” 

“ Because  yonder,”  replied  the  captain,  pointing  out  to 
sea,  “ comes  a vessel  of  suspicious  appearance,  — a vessel 
which  has  followed  me  for  four  days.  I wish  to  see  what 
she  means  to  do.” 


566 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Philippe,  satisfied  with  the  explanation,  got  into  the  last 
boat  and  started  for  the  shore.  The  ladies  and  several 
other  passengers,  of  both  classes,  did  not  care  to  take  the 
chances  of  the  trip,  or  awaited  their  turn.  The  two  boats 
then  moved  away,  carrying  joyous  sailors,  and  passengers 
more  joyous  still. 

The  captain’s  last  words  were  : “ At  eight  o’clock,  gen- 
tlemen, the  last  boat  will  go  for  you.  Consider  that  as 
settled ; those  who  are  behind  time  will  be  left.” 

When  all  the  party,  naturalists  and  sportsmen,  had 
landed,  the  sailors  immediately  entered  a cavern,  situated 
about  a hundred  paces  from  the  shore,  and  which  turned 
at  a right  angle  near  the  entrance,  as  if  to  avoid  the  rays 
of  the  sun.  From  a living  spring,  clear,  bluish  water 
glided  over  the  mossy  rocks,  and  was  lost  in  fine  sand 
within  the  cavern.  Here  the  sailors  stopped  and  filled 
their  casks,  which  then  they  rolled  toward  the  shore. 

Philippe  watched  them  at  their  work.  He  admired  the 
tinted  shades  of  the  cavern,  and  the  freshness  and  gentle 
noise  of  the  water  as  it  glided  from  fall  to  fall.  He  was 
surprised  at  finding  at  first  dense  darkness  and  intense 
cold,  while  after  a few  minutes  the  temperature  became 
mild,  and  the  darkness  was  pierced  by  a soft,  mysterious 
light.  Thus  with  arms  outstretched  and  knocking  against 
the  rocky  sides,  he  had  begun  to  follow  the  sailors  without 
seeing  them ; and  then  by  degrees  every  face,  every  form, 
became  clear  and  distinct.  Philippe  preferred,  as  to  clear- 
ness, the  light  of  that  grotto  to  the  light  of  heaven,  so 
glaring  and  harsh  in  full  day  in  those  latitudes.  Mean- 
time he  heard  the  voices  of  his  companions  die  away  in 
the  distance.  One  or  two  gunshots  echoed  along  the 
mountain ; then  all  noises  ceased,  and  Philippe  was  alone. 
The  sailors  'had  accomplished  their  task,  and  would  not 
return  to  the  grotto. 


THE  AZORE  ISLANDS. 


567 


Philippe  yielded  himself  to  the  charm  of  that  solitude 
and  to  the  thoughts  whirling  in  his  brain.  He  stretched 
himself  out  upon  the  soft,  luxurious  sand,  with  his  back 
against  the  rocks  carpeted  with  aromatic  herbs,  and  sank 
into  meditation.  The  hours  rolled  on.  He  had  forgotten 
the  world.  At  his  side  his  gun,  unloaded,  leaned  against 
the  rock,  and  that  he  might  lie  more  comfortably,  he  had 
taken  from  his  pockets  the  pistols  which  were  his  insepara- 
ble companions.  All  his  past  life  came  up  before  him, 
slowly,  solemnly,  as  a warning  or  a reproach ; all  his 
future  took  flight  before  him,  like  the  timid  bird  which 
one  may  touch  with  a look,  but  never  with  the  hand. 

While  Philippe  thus  dreamed,  doubtless  others,  within  a 
hundred  feet  of  him,  dreamed,  laughed,  and  hoped.  He 
had  an  insensible  perception  of  that  movement,  and  more 
than  once  he  thought  he  heard  the  boatmen’s  oars  as  they 
conveyed  passengers  to  the  vessel  or  brought  other  passen- 
gers to  the  shore,  — the  former  surfeited  with  the  day’s 
pleasures,  the  latter  eager  to  enjoy  them  in  their  turn. 
But  his  meditation  had  not  yet  been  disturbed,  — either 
because  the  entrance  to  the  grotto  had  escaped  notice,  or 
because  those  who  observed  it  disdained  to  enter. 

Suddenly  a shadow,  timid,  undecided,  interposed  itself 
between  the  light  of  day  and  the  grotto,  at  its  very  entrance. 
Philippe  saw  some  one  walking,  with  his  hands  extended 
before  him,  and  his  head  bent  down,  in  the  direction  of 
the  murmuring  water.  This  person  fell  once  against  the 
rocks,  his  foot  having  slipped  on  some  herbs.  Then 
Philippe  rose  and  went  forward,  offering  his  hand  to  the 
visitor  to  help  him  find  a safe  path.  In  this  courteous 
action  his  fingers  touched  the  hand  of  the  traveller  in 
the  darkness.  “This  way,”  he  said,  with  politeness; 
“Monsieur,  the  water  is  in  this  direction.” 

At  the  sound  of  that  voice  the  stranger  quickly  raised 


568 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


his  head,  and  prepared  to  answer,  exposing  his  face  in  the 
azure  twilight  of  the  grotto.  But  Philippe,  with  a sudden 
cry  of  horror,  started  hack.  The  unknown  also  drew  back 
with  an  exclamation  of  fright. 

“ Gilbert ! ” 

“ Philippe  ! ” 

These  two  words  burst  forth  at  the  same  time,  like  sub- 
terranean thunder.  Then  ensued  the  sound  of  a sort  of 
struggle.  Philippe  had  seized  with  both  hands  his  ene- 
my’s throat  and  dragged  him  to  the  depths  of  the  cavern. 
Gilbert  suffered  himself  to  be  dragged,  without  uttering  a 
word  of  protest.  Pushed  against  the  rocky  wall  of  the 
interior,  he  could  recoil  no  farther. 

“ Scoundrel ! I have  you  at  last ! ” roared  Philippe. 
“ God  has  delivered  you  into  my  hands  ; God  is  just.” 

Gilbert  was  very  pale,  but  made  no  movement ; his 
arms  hung  idly  by  his  sides. 

“ Oh,  coward  and  villain  ! ” said  Philippe ; “ he  has  n’t 
even  the  instinct  of  the  wild  beast,  wrhich  defends 
itself.” 

But  Gilbert  replied  in  gentle  tones,  “ Defend  myself! 
and  why?” 

“ True,  you  know  well  that  you  are  in  my  power ; you 
know  well  that  you  have  deserved  the  most  terrible  pun- 
ishment. All  your  crimes  are  proved.  You  have  loaded 
a woman  with  shame  ; you  have  killed  her  by  cruelty.  It 
was  not  enough  for  you  to  dishonor  a virgin  ; you  wished 
also  to  assassinate  a mother  ! ” 

Gilbert  made  no  reply.  Philippe,  who  gradually  be- 
came wild  with  the  heat  of  his  own  fury,  again  raised 
violent  hands  against  Gilbert.  The  young  man  offered  no 
resistance. 

“ You  are  not  a man,  then  ? ” said  Philippe,  shaking 
him  in  his  rage ; “ you  have  only  the  face  of  a man  1 


THE  AZORE  ISLANDS. 


569 


What ! — not  even  resistance  ? But  I am  strangling  you, 
— you  see  it  plainly.  Resist,  then ; defend  yourself,  cow- 
ard ! coward  ! assassin  ! ” 

Gilbert  felt  the  sharp  fingers  of  his  enemy  in  his  throat. 
He  drew  himself  up,  stiffened  himself,  and  vigorous  as  a 
lion,  by  a single  movement  of  his  shoulders  cast  Philippe 
off  from  him.  Then  he  crossed  his  arms.  “You  see,” 
said  he,  “ that  I could  defend  myself  if  I wished  ; but  why 
should  I ? Now  you  run  to  your  gun.  I would  rather  be 
killed  at  once  than  torn  by  finger-nails  and  crushed  by 
shameful  blows.” 

Philippe  had,  in  fact,  seized  his  gun,  but  at  these  words 
he  laid  it  aside.  “ No,”  he  murmured.  Then,  aloud, 
“ Where  are  you  going  ] How  are  you  here  ] ” 

“ I embarked  in  the  4 Adonis.’  ” 

“ You  hid  yourself,  then  ? you  saw  me  'l  99 
“ I did  not  even  know  you  were  on  board.” 

“ You  lie  ! ” 

“ I do  not  lie.” 

“ How  is  it  that  I have  not  seen  you  'l 99 
“ Because  I have  left  my  berth  only  at  night.” 

“You  see  ! — you  hide  yourself ! ’ 

“ Certainly.” 

“ From  me  1 99 

“No,  I tell  you ; I go  to  America  on  a mission*  and  I 
must  not  be  seen.  The  captain  has  lodged  me  apart  for 
that  reason.” 

“ You  hide  yourself,  T tell  you,  to  conceal  from  me  your 
presence,  and  especially  to  hide  the  child  which  you  have 
stolen.” 

“ The  child  1 ” said  Gilbert. 

“ Yes ; you  have  stolen  and  carried  away  that  child,  to 
make  of  him  a weapon  by  which  some  day  you  may  profit* 

villain  1 ” 


570 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


Gilbert  shook  his  head.  44  I have  taken  the  child,”  he 
said,  4 4 so  that  no  one  may  teach  him  to  despise  or  to  deny 
his  father.” 

Philippe  paused  for  a moment.  44  If  that  is  true,”  said 
he,  44  if  I could  believe  it,  you  would  be  less  villanous  than 
I thought ; but  you  have  stolen,  — why  have  you  not 
denied  it  1 ” 

44  Stolen  ? I have  stolen  1 ” 

44  You  have  stolen  the  child.” 

44  He  is  my  son  ! he  is  mine  ! We  do  not  steal,  Mon- 
sieur, when  we  take  our  own.” 

44  Listen  ! ” said  Philippe,  trembling  with  rage.  44  Just 
now  I thought  I would  kill  you.  I had  sworn  it ; I had 
the  right  to  do  it.” 

Gilbert  did  not  answer. 

44  How  God  enlightens  me.  God  has  thrown  you  in  my 
way  as  if  to  say  to  me  : 4 Vengeance  is  useless  ; vengeance 
is  right  only  when  one  is  abandoned  by  God.1  1 will  not 
kill  you,  I will  only  destroy  the  structure  of  misery  you 
have  erected.  This  child  is  your  means  of  mischief  for 
the  future ; you  must  give  me  this  child.” 

44  But  I have  him  not,”  said  Gilbert.  44  One  does  not 
take  to  sea  a child  fifteen  days  old.” 

44  You  must  have  procured  a nurse  for  him ; why  did 
you  not  bring  away  the  nurse  ? ” 

44 1 tell  you  that  I have  not  brought  away  the  child.” 

“ Then  you  have  left  him  in  France.  In  what  part 
have  you  left  him  ? ” 

Gilbert  was  silent. 

44  Answer ! where  have  you  placed  him  at  nurse,  and 
with  what  means  of  support  'l  ” 

Gilbert  was  silent. 

44 Ah,  scoundrel,  you  defy  me!”  said  Philippe.  44 Are 
you  not  afraid  of  arousing  my  anger  ? Will  you  tell  me 


THE  AZORE  ISLANDS. 


571 


where  my  sister’s  child  is  hidden  ] Will  you  give  me  this 
child  ] ” 

“ My  child  is  my  own,”  murmured  Gilbert. 

“ Villain  ! you  see  plainly  that  you  will  die  ! ” 

“ I will  not  give  up  my  child.” 

“ Gilbert,  listen ; I speak  to  you  kindly.  Gilbert,  I 
will  try  to  forget  the  past ; I will  try  to  pardon  you. 
Gilbert,  you  understand  my  generosity,  do  you  not  1 
I pardon  you  ! I forgive  all  the  shame  and  misfortune 
you  have  brought  upon  our  house ; it  is  a great  sacrifice. 
Give  me  back  this  child.  Would  you  have  more]  Would 
you  have  me  try  to  overcome  the  so  justifiable  repugnance 
of  Andree]  Would  you  have  me  intercede  for  you] 
Well,  I will  do  it  if  you  give  me  back  this  child  ! One 
word  more  : Andree  loves  her  son  — your  son  — madly  * 
she  will  be  moved  by  your  repentance,  I promise  you. 
But  give  me  back  this  child,  Gilbert,  give  it  back  to 
me ! ” 

Gilbert  folded  his  arms,  fixing  upon  Philippe  a glance 
of  gloomy  determination.  “ You  have  not  believed  me,” 
he  said;  “I  do  not  believe  you.  Not  that  you  are  a dis- 
honest man,  but  because  I have  sounded  the  depth  of  the 
prejudice  of  caste.  There  is  no  possible  return,  — no  more 
pardon  ! We  are  mortal  enemies.  You  are  the  stronger, 
therefore  be  the  conqueror.  I do  not  ask  you  for  your 
weapon,  do  not  ask  me  for  mine.” 

“ You  confess,  then,  that  it  is  a weapon  ] ” 

“ Against  scorn,  yes  ; against  ingratitude,  yes  ; against 
insult,  yes ! ” 

“ Once  more,  Gilbert,”  said  Philippe,  foaming  at  the 
mouth,  “ will  you  ] 99 

“ No.” 

“ Take  care  ! 99 

“ No.” 


572 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


“ I do  not  wish  to  murder  you ; I wish  you  to  have  the 
chance  of  killing  Andree’s  brother.  One  crime  more  ! 
Ah,  ah  ! that  is  tempting.  Take  this  pistol ; here  is  an- 
other. Let  us  each  count  three  and  fire,”  and  he  threw 
one  of  the  pistols  at  Gilbert’s  feet. 

The  young  man  stood  motionless.  “ A duel,”  he  said, 
“is  precisely  what  I refuse.” 

“You  prefer  to  have  me  kill  you  ! ” cried  Philippe,  mad 
with  rage  and  despair. 

“ I prefer  to  be  killed  by  you.” 

“ Beflect.  I am  beside  myself.” 

“ I have  reflected.” 

“ It  is  my  right ; God  will  absolve  me.” 

“ I know  it,  — kill  me.” 

“ For  the  last  time,  will  you  fight  ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ You  refuse  to  defend  yourself  ] ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well,  then,  die  like  a villain  of  whom  I rid  the  earth  ! 
die  like  a heathen,  die  like  a thief,  die  like  a dog ! ” 
and  Philippe  discharged  his  pistol  at  Gilbert,  almost 
touching  him  with  the  muzzle.  The  latter  stretched  out 
his  arms,  swayed  first  backward,  then  forward,  and  fell 
upon  his  face  without  uttering  a cry,  Philippe  felt  the 
sand  under  his  feet  wet  with  the  warm  blood ; he  com- 
pletely lost  his  senses,  and  rushed  out  of  the  cavern. 
Before  him  was  the  shore;  a boat  was  waiting.  Eight 
o’clock  had  been  announced  as  the  hour  of  departure ; it 
was  now  some  minutes  after  eight. 

“ Ah,  here  you  are,  Monsieur ! ” said  the  sailors.  “ You 
are  the  last ; every  one  is  on  board.  What  have  you 
killed  1 ” 

Philippe,  hearing  this  word,  lost  consciousness.  They 
took  him  on  board  the  ship,  which  was  unfurling  its  sails. 


THE  AZORE  ISLANDS. 


573 


“ Is  every  one  on  board  'l  ” asked  the  captain. 

“ Here  is  the  last  passenger,”  replied  the  sailors.  “ He 
must  have  had  a fall,  for  he  has  fainted.” 

The  captain  gave  the  necessary  orders,  and  the  brig 
sailed  rapidly  away  from  the  Azores,  at  the  same  time 
that  the  unknown  vessel,  which  had  annoyed  them  so 
long,  entered  the  harbor  under  the  American  flag. 

The  captain  of  the  “ Adonis  ” exchanged  signals  with 
this  vessel,  and  reassured,  apparently  at  least,  he  contin- 
ued his  course  toward  the  west,  and  was  soon  lost  in  the 
darkness  of  night. 

It  was  not  until  the  next  day  that  they  discovered  that 
one  passenger  was  missing. 


674 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


EPILOGUE. 

On  the  ninth  of  May,  1774,  at  eight  o’clock  in  the  even- 
ing, Versailles  presented  a most  curious  and  interesting 
spectacle. 

From  the  first  day  of  the  month  the  king,  Louis  XV., 
attacked  with  a malady,  the  serious  nature  of  which  his 
physicians  at  first  dared  not  confess  to  him,  had  been  con- 
fined to  his  bed,  anxiously  consulting  the  countenances  of 
those  who  surrounded  him,  to  discover  in  them  some  re- 
flection of  the  truth  or  some  ray  of  hope. 

The  physician  Bordeu  had  pronounced  the  king  suffer- 
ing from  an  attack  of  small-pox  of  the  most  malignant 
nature,  and  the  physician  La  Martiniere,  who  had  agreed 
with  his  colleague  as  to  the  nature  of  the  king’scomplaint, 
gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  his  Majesty  should  he  informed 
of  the  real  state  of  the  case,  in  order  that,  both  spiritually 
and  temporally,  as  a king  and  as  a Christian,  he  might 
take  measures  for  his  own  safety  and  that  of  his  kingdom. 
“His  most  Christian  Majesty,”  said  he,  “should  have  ex- 
treme unction  administered  to  him.” 

La  Martiniere  represented  the  party  of  the  dauphin,  — 
the  opposition.  Bordeu  asserted  that  the  bare  mention  of 
the  serious  nature  of  the  disease  would  kill  the  king,  and 
said  that  for  his  part  he  would  not  be  a party  to  such 
regicide. 

Bordeu  represented  Madame  Dubarry’s  party.  In  fact, 
to  call  in  the  aid  of  the  Church  to  the  king  was  to  expel 


EPILOGUE. 


575 


the  favorite.  When  God  enters  at  one  door,  it  is  full  time 
for  Satan  to  make  his  exit  by  the  other. 

In  the  mean  time,  during  all  these  intestine  divisions 
of  the  faculty,  of  the  royal  family,  and  of  the  different 
parties  of  the  court,  the  disease  took  quiet  possession  of 
the  aged,  corrupt,  and  worn-out  frame  of  the  king,  and  set 
up  such  a strong  position  that  neither  remedies  nor  pre- 
scriptions could  dislodge  it. 

From  the  first  symptoms  of  the  attack,  Louis  beheld  his 
couch  surrounded  by  his  two  daughters,  the  favorite,  and 
the  courtiers  whom  he  especially  delighted  to  honor. 
They  still  laughed  and  stood  firm  by  one  another. 

Suddenly  the  austere  and  ominous  countenance  of  Ma- 
dame  Louise  of  France  appeared  at  Versailles.  She  had 
left  her  cell  to  give  to  her  father,  in  her  turn,  the  cares 
and  consolations  he  so  much  required.  She  entered,  pale 
and  stern  as  a statue  of  Fate.  She  was  no  longer  a daugh- 
ter to  a father,  a sister  to  her  fellow-sisters  ; she  rather 
resembled  those  ancient  prophetesses  who  in  the  evil  day 
of  adversity  poured  in  the  startled  ears  of  kings  the  boding 
cry,  “ Woe  ! woe  ! woe  ! ” She  fell  upon  Versailles  like 
a thunder-shock  at  the  very  hour  when  it  was  Madame 
Dubarry’s  custom  to  visit  the  king,  who  kissed  her  white 
hands,  and  pressed  them  in  soft  caresses  to  his  aching 
brow  and  burning  cheeks.  At  sight  of  her  all  fled.  The 
sisters,  trembling,  sought  refuge  in  a neighboring  chamber. 
Madame  Dubarry  bent  the  knee  and  hastened  to  her 
apartment ; the  privileged  courtiers  retreated  in  disorder 
to  the  antechambers ; the  two  physicians  alone  remained 
standing  by  the  fireside. 

“ My  daughter  ! ” murmured  the  king,  opening  his  eyes, 
heavy  with  pain  and  fever. 

“ Yes,  Sire,”  said  the  princess,  “ your  daughter.” 

“ And  you  come  — ” 


576 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


u To  remind  you  of  God  ! ” 

The  king  raised  himself  in  an  upright  posture  and  at- 
tempted to  smile. 

“ For  you  have  forgotten  God,”  resumed  Madame 
Louise. 

“I!” 

“ And  I wish  to  recall  him  to  your  thoughts.” 

“ My  daughter,  I am  not  so  near  death,  I trust,  that 
your  exhortations  need  to  be  so  very  urgent.  My  ill- 
ness is  very  slight,  — a slow  fever,  attended  with  some 
inflammation.” 

“ Your  malady,  Sire,”  interrupted  the  princess,  “ is  that 
which,  according  to  etiquette,  should  summon  around 
your  Majesty’s  couch  all  the  great  prelates  of  the  kingdom. 
When  a member  of  the  royal  family  is  attacked  with 
small-pox,  the  rites  of  the  Church  should  be  administered 
without  loss  of  time.” 

“ Madame  ! ” exclaimed  the  king,  greatly  agitated,  and 
becoming  deadly  pale,  “ what  is  that  you  say  ? ” 

“ Madame  ! ” broke  in  the  terrified  physicians. 

“ I repeat,”  continued  the  princess,  “ that  your  Majesty 
is  attacked  with  the  small-pox.” 

The  king  uttered  a cry. 

" The  physicians  did  not  tell  me  so,”  he  replied. 

“ They  had  not  the  courage.  But  I look  forward  to 
another  kingdom  for  your  Majesty  than  the  kingdom  of 
France.  Draw  near  to  God,  Sire,  and  solemnly  review 
your  past  life.” 

“ The  small-pox  ! ” muttered  Louis  ; “ a fatal  disease  [ 
— Bordeu  ! — La  Martiniere  ! — can  it  be  true  ? ” 

The  two  practitioners  hung  their  heads. 

“ Then  I am  lost ! ” said  the  king,  more  and  more 
terrified. 

“ All  diseases  can  be  cured,  Sire,”  said  Bordeu,  taking 


EPILOGUE.  ‘ 577 

the  initiative,  44  especially  when  the  patient  preserves  his 
composure  of  mind.” 

4 4 God  gives  peace  to  the  mind  and  health  to  the  body,” 
replied  the  princess. 

44  Madame,”  said  Bordeu,  boldly,  although  in  a low 
voice,  44  you  are  killing  the  king ! ” 

The  princess  deigned  no  reply.  She  approached  the 
sick  monarch,  and  taking  his  hand,  which  she  covered 
with  kisses,  44  Break  with  the  past,  Sire,”  said  she,  44  and 
give  an  example  to  your  people.  No  one  warned  you  ; 
you  ran  the  risk  of  perishing  eternally.  Promise  solemnly 
to  live  a Christian  life  if  you  are  spared ; die  like  a Chris- 
tian if  God  calls  you  hence.” 

As  she  concluded  she  imprinted  a second  kiss  on  the 
royal  hand,  and  with  slow  step  took  her  way  through 
the  antechambers.  There  she  let  her  long  black  veil  fall 
over  her  face,  descended  the  staircase  with  a grave  and 
majestic  air,  and  entered  her  carriage,  leaving  behind  her 
a stupefaction  and  terror  which  cannot  be  described. 

The  king  could  not  rouse  his  spirits,  except  by  dint  of 
questioning  his  physicians ; but  the  blow  had  been  struck. 
44 1 do  not  wish,”  said  he,  44  that  the  scenes  of  Metz  with 
the  Duchesse  de  Chateauroux  should  be  re-enacted  here. 
Send  for  Madame  d’Aiguillon,  and  request  her  to  take 
Madame  Dubarry  with  her  to  Rueil.” 

This  order  was  equivalent  to  an  expulsion.  Bordeu 
attempted  to  remonstrate,  but  the  king  ordered  him  to  be 
silent.  Bordeu,  moreover,  saw  his  colleague  ready  to 
report  all  that  passed  to  the  dauphin,  and  well  aware 
what  would  be  the  issue  of  the  king’s  malady,  he  did  not 
persist ; but  going  out  from  the  royal  chamber  he  pro- 
ceeded to  acquaint  Madame  Dubarry  with  the  blow  which 
had  just  fallen  on  her  fortunes. 

The  countess,  terrified  at  the  ominous  and  insulting 

VOL.  in.  — 87 


578 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


expression  which  she  saw  already  on  every  face  around 
her,  hastened  to  withdraw.  In  an  hour  she  was  without 
the  walls  of  Versailles,  seated  beside  the  Duchesse  d’Ai- 
guillon,  who,  like  a trustworthy  and  grateful  friend,  was 
taking  the  disgraced  favorite  to  her  chateau  of  Rueil,  which 
had  descended  to  her  from  the  great  Richelieu. 

Bordeu,  on  his  side,  shut  the  door  of  the  king’s  chamber 
against  all  the  royal  family,  under  pretext  of  contagion. 
Louis’s  apartment  was  thenceforward  walled  up  ; no  one 
might  enter  hut  Religion  and  Death. 

The  king  had  the  last  rites  of  the  Church  administered 
to  him  that  same  day,  and  this  news  soon  spread  through 
Paris,  where  the  disgrace  of  the  favorite  was  already  known, 
and  circulated  from  mouth  to  mouth. 

All  the  court  hastened  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  dau- 
phin, who  closed  his  doors  and  refused  to  see  any  one. 

But  the  following  day  the  king  was  better,  and  sent 
the  Due  d’Aiguillon  to  carry  his  compliments  to  Madame 
Dubarry.  This  day  was  May  9,  1774. 

The  court  deserted  the  pavilion  occupied  by  the  dau- 
phin, and  flocked  in  such  crowds  to  Rueil,  where  the 
favorite  was  residing,  that  since  the  banishment  of  Mon- 
sieur de  Choiseul  to  Chanteloup  such  a string  of  carriages 
had  never  been  witnessed. 

Things  were  in  this  position,  therefore : would  the 
king  live,  and  Madame  Dubarry  still  remain  queen ; or 
would  the  king  die,  and  Madame  Dubarry  sink  to  the 
condition  of  an  infamous  and  execrable  courtesan  ] This 
was  why  Versailles,  on  the  evening  of  May  9,  in  the  year 
1774,  presented  such  a curious  and  interesting  spectacle. 

On  the  Place  d’Armes,  before  the  palace,  several  groups 
of  persons  had  formed  in  front  of  the  railing  who  seemed 
affected  and  anxious  to  hear  the  news.  They  were  citi- 
zens of  Versailles  or  of  Paris,  and  eveiy  now  and  then, 


EPILOGUE. 


579 


with  all  the  politeness  imaginable,  they  questioned  the 
guards  who  were  pacing  slowly  up  and  down  the  Court 
of  Honor,  with  their  hands  behind  their  backs,  respecting 
the  king’s  health. 

Gradually  these  groups  dispersed.  The  inhabitants  of 
Paris  took  their  seats  in  the  stage-coaches  to  return  peace- 
ably to  their  own  homes ; while  those  of  Versailles,  sure  of 
having  the  earliest  news  from  the  fountain-head,  also  re- 
tired to  their  several  dwellings.  No  one  was  to  be  seen 
in  the  streets  but  the  patrols  of  the  watch,  who  performed 
their  duty  a little  more  quietly  than  usual;  and  that 
gigantic  world,  called  the  Palace  of  Versailles,  became  by 
degrees  shrouded  in  darkness  and  silence,  like  that  greater 
world  which  contained  it. 

At  the  angle  of  the  street  bordered  with  trees  which 
extends  in  front  of  the  palace,  a man  advanced  in  years 
was  seated  on  a stone-bench  overshadowed  by  the  already 
leafy  boughs  of  the  horse-chestnuts,  with  his  expressive 
and  poetic  features  turned  toward  the  chateau,  leaning 
with  both  hands  on  his  cane,  and  supporting  his  chin  on 
his  hands.  He  was  an  old  man,  bent  by  age  and  ill-health, 
but  his  eye  still  sparkled  with  something  of  its  youthful 
fire,  and  his  thoughts  glowed  even  more  brightly  than  his 
eyes.  He  was  absorbed  in  melancholy  contemplation,  and 
did  not  perceive  a second  personage  who,  after  peeping 
curiously  through  the  iron  railing  and  questioning  the 
guards,  crossed  the  esplanade  in  a diagonal  direction,  and 
advanced  straight  toward  the  bench  with  the  intention  of 
seating  himself  upon  it. 

This  personage  was  a young  man  with  projecting  cheek- 
bones, low  forehead,  aquiline  nose  slightly  bent  to  one 
side,  and  a sardonic  smile.  While  advancing  toward  the 
stone-bench  he  chuckled  sneeringly,  although  alone,  seem- 
ing to  reply  by  this  laughter  to  some  secret  thought. 


580 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


When  within  three  paces  of  the  bench  he  perceived  th6 
old  man,  and  paused,  scanning  him  with  his  oblique  and 
stealthy  glance,  although  evidently  fearing  to  let  his  pur- 
pose be  seen.  “ You  are  enjoying  the  fresh  air,  Monsieur  ? ” 
said  he,  approaching  him  with  an  abrupt  movement. 

The  old  man  raised  his  head. 

“ Ha  ! ” exclaimed  the  new-comer,  “ it  is  my  illustrious 
master  ! ” 

“ And  you  are  my  young  practitioner  1 ” said  the  old 
man. 

“ Will  you  permit  me  to  take  a seat  beside  you, 
Monsieur,?  ” 

“ Most  willingly,”  and  the  old  man  made  room  on  the 
bench  beside  him. 

“It  appears  that  the  king  is  getting  better?”  said  the 
young  man.  u The  people  rejoice,”  and  he  burst  a second 
time  into  his  sneering  laugh. 

The  old  man  made  no  reply. 

“ The  whole  day  long  the  carriages  have  been  rolling 
from  Paris  to  Rueil,  and  from  Rueil  to  Versailles.  The 
Comtesse  Dubarry  will  marry  the  king  as  soon  as  his 
health  is  re-established,”  and  he  burst  into  a louder  laugh 
than  before. 

Still  the  old  man  made  no  reply. 

“ Pardon  me  if  I laugh  at  Fate,”  continued  the  young 
man,  with  a gesture  of  nervous  impatience,  “ but  every 
good  Frenchman,  look  you,  loves  his  king,  and  my  king  is 
better  to-day.” 

“ Do  not  jest  thus  on  such  a subject,  Monsieur,”  said 
the  old  man,  gently.  “ The  death  of  a man  is  always  a 
misfortune  for  some  one,  and  the  death  of  a king  is  fre- 
quently a great  misfortune  for  all.” 

“ Even  the  death  of  Louis  XV.  ? ” interrupted  the  young 
man,  in  a tone  of  irony.  “ Oh,  my  dear  master,  a distin 


EPILOGUE. 


581 


guished  philosopher  like  you  to  sustain  such  a proposition  { 
I know  all  the  energy  and  skill  of  your  paradoxes,  but  I 
cannot  compliment  you  on  this  one.” 

The  old  man  shook  his  head. 

“And  besides,”  added  the  new-comer,  “why  think  of 
the  king’s  death  ? Who  speaks  of  such  an  event  ? The 
king  has  the  small-pox ; well,  we  all  know  that  complaint. 
The  king  has  beside  him  Bordeu  and  La  Martiniere,  who 
are  skilful  men.  Oh,  I will  wager  a trifle,  my  dear  master, 
that  Louis  the  Well-Beloved  will  recover  ! Only  this  time 
the  French  people  do  not  suffocate  themselves  in  churches, 
putting  up  vows  for  him,  as  on  the  occasion  of  his  former 
illness.  Mark  me,  everything  grows  antiquated  and  is 
abandoned ! ” 

“ Silence  ! ” said  the  old  man,  shuddering,  — “ silence  ! 
for  I tell  you,  you  are  speaking  of  a man  over  whom  the 
destroying  angel  hovers  at  this  moment.” 

His  young  companion,  surprised  at  this  strange  language, 
looked  at  the  speaker,  whose  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  fa$ade 
of  the  chateau. 

“ Then  you  have  more  positive  intelligence  ? ” he 
asked. 

“ Look  ! ” said  the  old  man,  pointing  with  his  finger  to 
one  of  the  windows  of  the  palace  ; “ what  do  you  behold 
yonder  ? ” 

“A  window  lighted  up,  — is  that  what  you  mean?  ” 

“ Yes  ; hut  lighted  in  what  manner  ? ” 

“ By  a wax  candle  placed  in  a little  lantern.” 

“ Precisely.” 

“Well?” 

“ Well,  young  man,  do  you  know  what  the  flame  of  that 
wax-light  represents  ? ” 

“ Ho,  Monsieur.” 

“ It  represents  the  life  of  the  king.” 


582 


MEMOIRS  OF  A PHYSICIAN. 


The  young  man  looked  more  fixedly  at  his  aged  com- 
panion, as  if  to  be  certain  that  he  was  in  his  senses. 

“ A friend  of  mine,  Monsieur  de  Jussieu,* 1 continued 
the  old  man,  “ has  placed  that  wax-light  there,  which  will 
bum  as  long  as  the  king  is  alive.* * 

“ It  is  a signal,  then  1 ** 

“ A signal  which  Louis  XY.’s  successor  devours  with  his 
eyes  from  behind  some  neighboring  curtain.  This  signal, 
which  shall  warn  the  ambitious  of  the  dawn  of  a new 
reign,  informs  a poor  philosopher  like  myself  of  the  instant 
when  the  breath  of  the  Almighty  sweeps  away,  at  the  same 
moment,  an  epoch  and  a human  existence.** 

The  young  man  shuddered  in  his  turn,  and  moved  closer 
to  his  companion. 

“ Oh,’*  said  the  aged  philosopher,  “ mark  well  this  night, 
young  man  ! Behold  what  clouds  and  tempests  it  bears 
in  its  murky  bosom  ! The  morning  which  will  succeed  it 
I shall  witness  no  doubt,  for  I am  not  yet  old  enough  to 
abandon  hope  of  seeing  the  morrow  ; but  a reign  is  perhaps 
about  to  begin  which  you  will  witness  even  to  the  end, 
and  which  includes  — like  this  night  — mysterious  events 
which  I shall  not  see.  It  is  not,  therefore,  without  inter- 
est that  I watch  yonder  trembling  flame,  whose  significa- 
tion I have  just  explained  to  you.** 

“ True,  my  master,**  murmured  the  young  man,  “ most 
true.” 

“ Louis  XIY.  reigned  seventy-three  years,”  continued 
the  old  man.  “ How  many  will  Louis  XYI.  reign  1 99 

“ Ah  ! **  exclaimed  the  younger  of  the  two,  pointing 
to  the  window,  which  had  just  become  shrouded  in 
darkness. 

“ The  king  is  dead  ! ” said  the  old  man,  rising  with  a 
sort  of  terror ; and  both  kept  silence  for  some  minutes. 

Suddenly  a chariot,  drawn  by  eight  fiery  horses,  started 


EPILOGUE. 


583 


at  full  gallop  from  the  court-yard  of  the  palace.  Two  out- 
riders preceded  it,  each  holding  a torch  in  his  hand.  In 
the  chariot  were  the  dauphin,  Marie  Antoinette,  and 
Madame  Elizabeth,  the  sister  of  the  king.  The  flame  of 
the  torches  threw  a gloomy  light  on  their  pale  features. 
The  carriage  passed  close  to  the  two  men,  within  ten  paces 
of  the  bench  from  which  they  had  risen. 

“ Long  live  King  Louis  XVI.  ! Long  live  the  queen  ! ” 
shouted  the  young  man  in  a loud,  harsh  voice,  as  if  he 
meant  to  insult  this  new-born  Majesty  instead  of  saluting 
it. 

The  dauphin  bowed  ; the  queen  showed  her  face  at  the 
window,  sad  and  severe.  The  carriage  dashed  on  and 
disappeared. 

“ My  dear  Monsieur  Rousseau,”  said  the  younger  of  the 
two  spectators,  “ then  Madame  Dubarry  is  a widow.” 

“ To-morrow  she  will  be  exiled,”  said  his  aged  compan- 
ion. “ Adieu,  Monsieur  Marat ! ” 


THE  END. 


